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THE BEADS OF TASMER 


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Ledger Library. 

;The Beads 

of Tasmer. 


NEW YORK: 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 
Publishers. 



By Amelia E. Barr, 

Author of “The Bow of Orange Ribbon.'’ 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 


A CHEAP EDITION 

In Ornamental Paper Cover. Price, 50 Gents. 

A NEW NOVEL 
By the Author of “The Forsaken Inn.” 

A MATTER OF MILLIONS. 


BY 

Anna Katharine Green. 


MAGNIFICENTLY ILLUSTRATED BY VICTOR PERARD. 

12mo. 482 Pag-es. Handsomely Bound in English Cloth. Gold 
Stamping on Cover. Price, $1.50. Paper Cover, 50 Cents 


This brilliant artistic novel will enhance the great reputation of 
the popular author of “The Forsaken Inn.” It is a story 
of to-day. The scene is laid in the city of New York and the 
village of Great Barrington, Mass. The story recites the strange 
adventures of a beautiful heiress who is herself so mysterious a 
creature that the reader cannot fathom her character until the 
final explanation and denouement of the plot. She is an intel- 
lectual and talented girl, whose musical gifts make her admired 
and beloved by her own sex, and the object of passionate adora- 
tion by the other sex. The artistic life is pictured and exempli- 
fied by two of the principal characters in the story. Everything 
conspires to make the story one of strong dramatic interest. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


Beads of Tasmer 



AMELIA E. BARR 


AUTHOR OP “JAN VEDDER’8 WIPE,” “A DAUGHTER OP PIPE,” 
“THE BOW OP ORANGE RIBBON,” “A BORDER 
SHEPHERDESS,” ETC., ETC. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. BA VIS. 



NEW YORK: 

0 

ROBERT BONNER’S 


/ .y' 


SONS, 


S! 


PUBLISHERS. 


y. 




ledger library : issued semi-monthly, subscription price, twelve dollars per annum, no. 46, 
ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER. 


SEPTEMBER 15, 1851. 




COPYBIGHT, 1890 and 1891, 

BY KOBERT BONNER’S SONS. 


(All rights reserved.) 


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Cousin Pons is one of the most interesting characters in the ^ 
whole range of Balzac’s wonderful creations. Balzac penetrated 
human nature to its depth. There is scarcely a type which 
evaded his keen eye. His characters are types of the living, 
human world swarming at his feet. His creations are as real as 
noble peaks standing out against an evening sky. In every one 
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volume you can open which does not set forth some deep human 
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think of him not as a character in a novel, but as a personage — a 
sweet and true soul — a simple enthusiast for art and beauty at 
the mercy of selfish and vulgar harpies. 



THE BEADS OF TASMER. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE BEADS OF TASMER. 

“ Lovest thou Mountains great, 

Peaks to the clouds that soar, 

Corrie and fell where eagles dwell, 

And cataracts dash evermore ? 

“ Lovest thou green grassy glades. 

By the sunshine sweetly kist ; 

Murmuring waves, and echoing caves ? 

Then go to the Land of Mist.” 

On the thundering shores of West Ross 
stands Tasmer, the old castle of the Torquils. 
Its foundations are laid upon that colossal 
masonry which the primeval deep piled up 


8 


The Beads of Tasmer, 


when it first began the fashioning of the hills ; 
and there are hours of blinding mist, and daz- 
zling sunshine, when its towers and turrets are 
scarcely to be distinguished from the great red 
rocks which buttress the coast against the 
vStormy Minch. 

At the foot of these rocks, the waves roar and 
moan through the vast vaults of innumerable 
caverns ; surge out again in foaming cataracts, 
and then roll through the torn and splintered 
fissures with an appalling fury. But above all 
this ceaseless battle of earth and water, Tasmer 
Castle has stood securely for seven centuries. 
Originally it was little else than a square hall 
defended by a round tower — the walls of both 
the hall and the tower being twelve feet thick — 
but in the sixteenth century, Rolfe Torquil 
allied himself to the great family of the Mac- 
kenzie, and built what is known as “ the Lady's 
Tower,” for his bride. 

Other additions were made at intervals ; and 
when, at length, the exile of the Stuarts gave a 


The Beads of Tasmer, 


9 


promise of permanent peace to the Highlands, 
the Torquils began to take a pride in their old 
home, and to furnish it luxuriously, according 
to the Georgian ideas of beauty and splendor. 
Even the small rooms within the ancient walls 
were made picturesquely habitable ; for the 
stone work was covered with tapestry, the 
floors and ceilings with light woods ; and dyed 
skins, gay chintzes, and soft carpets did much to 
beautify and soften the grim, bare strength 
which had been the original idea of home. But 
nothing could banish the strangely past look of 
the older portion of the building. In the 
brightest summer day, the twilight of Ossian 
lingers about it; and an imaginative person 
would scarcely wonder to see some fierce, bare- 
armed Thane of Ross look from the narrow 
windows, or walk out from the iron-studded 
door. 

Behind the castle there is a range of moun- 
tains, shouldering each other up until their bald 
heads are lost in mist and clouds. Half way 


lO 


The Beads of Tasmer, 


down, the firs begin ; and as they approach 
Tasmer, the dense woods embrace it on three 
sides. But to the sea it turns an open face, and 
looks boldly over the fractured Caledonian 
isles and the innumerable lochs and bays and 
sounds through which : 

“ By night and day. 

The great sea- water finds its way 
Through long, long windings of the hills." 

Among the men of Ross, the Torquils have 
always held a certain pre-eminence. They have 
usually had the qualities which insure it ; ready 
tongues, ready hands, and consciences not over- 
tender. They handled a sword as naturally as a 
bird uses its wings. They knew their own 
minds, and worked out their own wills, often 
ruthlessly, but without weakness or indecision. 
Also, the Torquils had an immeasurable admira- 
tion for the Torquils ; that portion of humanity 
not connected with them, or serviceable to 
them, had, at best, their profound indifference ; 


The Beads of Tasmer, 1 1 

and so little did they care to conceal this social 
contempt that the motto above their door con- 
stantly asserted it — 

“ They say, 

Wat say they ? 

Lat them say." 

From such ancestors a family is not easily 
delivered ; and in the beginning of the nine- 
teenth century the Torquils were still known as 
a race 111 to themselves and worse to their 
foe.” After this, however, the progressive 
spirit of the time reached even to the lonely 
Ross shores. Their next baron was sent to a 
French seminary; he traveled and observed, 
and learned to partially sacrifice his personal 
feelings to the rules of cultured society. He 
was nearly fifty years old when he inherited 
Tasmer, and had been in active service in 
various parts of the world for more than twenty 
years. 

So he was not averse to sheathe his sword. 
The grim old castle, to which he attached the 


12 


The Beads of Tasmer. 


idea of home, had a very warm place in his 
heart ; and he cherished a most exalted opinion 
of the importance of his own position and 
ancestry. It was a proud moment when his 
general first addressed him as Sir Rolfe Torquil. 
Hitherto he had been very reticent about his 
family, but now, as the head of it, he was quite 
inclined to be garrulous. 

“ It is a very ancient barony,** he said. ‘‘ The 
Torquils are of the pure Albionic race, with 
some slight admixture of Scandinavian blood. 
My family were Earls of Ross in the twelfth 
century.’' 

This statement was made at mess, where his 
brother officers were good-naturedly discussing 
the new prospects of their colonel, and Captain 
Stafford replied : 

“ You may restore the title, Sir Rolfe; a great 
deal of favor might be granted you on your 
military career.” 

“ I am one of those who love an old name 
better than a new one, Captain. And the Tor- 


The Beads of Tasmer, 


13 


quils have carved ‘Torquil’ with their swords 
and bayonets all over the English history of the 
past century.” 

** We can go a good deal further back than 
that,” lisped a young lieutenant, with the royal 
name of Fitz-Roy. 

You ought to do so, sir. You are Norman- 
English. I am a Highland Chief. We fought 
for our own side, and were our own masters 
until a hundred years ago.” 

“ I beg pardon, Sir Rolfe. I did not know 
about the Torquils.” 

The young man spoke with an air of apology, 
but Sir Rolfe answered, with cool contempt : 

That may be ; but we think no less of our- 
selves ioT your not knowing us.” 

This short conversation indicated the sudden 
change of manner which his accession to the 
estate induced. He had always been haughty, 
but he had hitherto been reticent ; and though 
manner is a great matter, no one finds it easy to 
complain of a silent man. 


H 


The Beads of Tasmer. 


Privately, Sir Rolfe’s musings were not 
altogether of unmixed satisfaction. The estate 
of Tasmer, though of great extent, was unpro- 
ductive, and the rental roll far below that of the 
poorest English barony. Highland lords had 
not then begun to slaughter their game for 
Covent Garden, nor dreamed of renting out 
their acres as shooting grounds for their far 
wealthier southern neighbors. Upon Tasmer’s 
hills were great flocks of sheep, with scrambling 
feet and twisted horns, and droves of little 
Highland cattle ; and from these sources the 
largest part of Sir Rolfe’s income was derived. 
Here and there in the narrow straths it was pos- 
sible to raise cereals, and the wealth of the 
ocean was at his doors, but within the castle 
walls there had always been a dreary want of 
ready money. 

No one but himself knew how this want had 
pinched him for thirty years ; and he was by no 
means sure that his pecuniary perplexities were 
over. This was the more annoying because his 


The Beads of Tasmer, 


5 


son and his daughter had arrived at ages when 
they could no longer be supported at economical 
schools. 

“ Donald is twenty-two years old,” he mused ; 
“ he ought to be in the army. Sara is twenty, 
and is doubtless thinking of fine dresses and 
lovers and society.” 

It was something stratige for Sir Rolfe to take 
the children into consideration at all. He had 
seen very little of them. When their mother 
died at a lonely station in the Madras Presi- 
dency, they were sent to Scotland ; and they had 
grown up between the formal discipline of 
schools and the liberty of the long vacations at 
Tasmer. During these latter periods, they ruled 
absolutely the irritable old baron, their grand- 
father, and lived in a perpetual holiday in each 
other’s company. Only Donald had any memory 
of his mother; his sister had forgotten her. But 
their father had made three long visits to his 
native land, and during them they had been his 
companions. Since the last visit, five years had 


i6 


The Beads of Tasmer, 


passed; they had not forgotten him, but they 
had become accustomed to life without him. 

Still, youth always expects change to bring 
happiness. They looked forward with pleasant 
anticipations to the new life which his coming 
home would inaugurate, and they were dis- 
cussing it together one morning, as they lingered 
over a late breakfast. 

“ There will be a great deal to do,” said Sara, 
‘‘when father arrives. Donald, read his letter 
again. I do not believe I heard a word of it. I 
was listening to something old Fergus was tell- 
ing me. What was said about Tasmer?” 

“ ‘ The principal rooms in the castle must be 
refurnished ; for your sake, and for your sister’s 
sake, we must live more like people of wealth 
and position.’ That is what father says.” 

“ And when does he expect to reach home ?” 

“ After this letter — immediately.” 

“ If it were possible for you to meet him on 
the way, Donald — ” 

“ I think he would not like it, Sara. Father 






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ROBERTA 






The Beads of Tasmer, 


17 


was always annoyed at anything like ‘fuss.’ 
There is no certainty either about the time. He 
may be delayed in London, for he is sure to go 
to the Army and Navy Club, and so it is likely 
he will meet some old comrade. I will take a 
good horse to Balmacarra, and leave it at the inn 
for him. I think that is the only attention it 
will please him to have.” 

Then they renewed a discussion which was of 
more personal interest to them. 

“ I should think father would like to have ‘ the 
baron’s rooms.’ The Tor quit has always occu- 
pied them. What do you think, Donald T 
“ I am sure he will keep them, Sara.” 

“ Then there is no reason why you and I 
should not at once select the apartments we like 
best. I will have a suite that looks upon the fir 
forest. O, Donald ! What charming hours we 
have had in those woods ! What myteries we 
have met there ! What pretty nests we set 
rocking as we parted the branches in our way ! 
And how the blackbirds used to sing, just as if 


i8 


The Beads of Tasmer, 


their hearts were not large enough to hold so 
much happiness ! And what blue-bells, and 
moss, and little daisies ! One never forgets such 
things, Donald.” 

‘‘No. Yet I always fancied the firs were full 
of sad stories ; that they knew all the dreadful 
secrets of those days when the Mackenzies and 
Torquils were burning and slaying, and carrying 
off miserable women and frightening children. 
If I sleep at that side of the house I hear them 
crying all night long. I sleep with my beads in 
my hands, and wake up in a fright to pray for 
them. I will have rooms that look over the sea. 
There is nothing secret about the sea. If any 
harm was coming the sea way, one could see it 
coming. What is lurking in a wood, who can 
tell?” 

“ Oh, indeed, Donald, you must not say there 
is nothing secret about the sea,” interrupted 
Sara. “ How often it covers itself with a thick 
mist. Then, how awful and how melancholy 
are the mountains, and how far away and sad 


The Beads of Tasmer. 


19 


are the long, low islands! The birds are so 
quiet, and the very surf is muffled on the beach. 
Nothing in nature is so full of secrets and of 
mystery, as the sea.” 

“ But I love the sea, Sara. When I get near 
it I feel it in every pulse of my body. I would 
rather watch the wind shimmer across it, than 
look at the finest picture man ever painted. 
And as for blue-bells and daisies, how much 
more I love the sea’s pale, salt flowers ! Oh, 
the sea 1 The sea! Glorious things can be told 
of the sea, Sara.” 

“ I know that, Donald. I hope father will get 
you a boat. I could trust myself with you and 
Angus Mackenzie.” 

“ I should think you could. Now you have 
given me a sea-longing, Sara. I must go and 
find Angus.” 

“ Donald, the riding-horse must go to Balma- 
carra first.” 

‘‘ I had forgotten. The horse is certainly the 
first thing to be attended to. Still I do not think 


20 


The Beads of Tasmer, 


father will get here to-day. The stages, after 
leaving Oban are not to be depended upon." 

Indeed, it was nearly a week after this con- 
versation before the new master of Tasmer 
arrived. The feeling of expectation had 
expended itself, and the young people were 
indulging that not unpleasant sentiment of mak- 
ing the best of a happy period which must 
soon pass away forever. Then, one brilliant 
July afternoon, when the windows were all open 
to the fir-woods or the sea, when they were eat- 
ing dinner, and had for the moment forgotten 
him, the door quietly opened, ’and Sir Rolfe 
Torquil entered. 

Donald sat in his grandfather’s seat, Sara at 
his right hand ; they were talking merrily, quite 
occupied with the present, forgetful of the past 
and the future alike ; and .of all things, they had 
the least thought of giving offense — and yet 
when Sir Rolfe saw Donald in the master’s 
chair, his first feeling — though it was evanescent 
as a shadow — was one of anger. Innocent as 


The Beads of Tasmer, 


21 


the appropriation was, and in spite of the joyful 
love that welcomed him, he felt it. 

Yet he looked with delight upon the chil- 
dren who called him “ father.” Donald had 
grown far beyond his hopes. His figure was 
tall and erect. He had blue eyes full of pierc- 
ing light; eyes that looked straight at every- 
thing, like the eyes of an eagle ; and that bright 
auburn hair which had given the prefix roj/, or 
red, to so many of his ancestors. It was easy 
for Sir Rolfe to imagine him at the head of a 
troop of cavalry rushing by, with the light of 
battle on his face. And Sara Torquil resembled 
her brother in her tall, slender form, her daz- 
zling complexion, her bright hair, and frank, 
fearless manner. 

For a little while, the joy of their reunion was 
almost perfect ; but ever, sooner or later, 
humanity finds the pain of reunion as great as 
the pain of parting. Some secret disappoint- 
ment or fear enters into all meetings after long 
absence. No one has stood still ; it is uncertain 


22 


The Beads of Tasmer, 


whether the changes will please or displease 
us. Some bonds of sympathy are almost certain 
to have worn away, and it is to a person, not 
quite what was expected, that we have to learn 
to adapt ourselves. 

After the night’s rest and solitude, something 
of this feeling was in each heart. Sir Rolfe per- 
ceived that his son had become a man ; that his 
daughter had crossed the line — 

“ Where the brook and river meet.” 

She was no longer a school-girl to be retired 
to a governess or sent out of the parlor if her 
society interfered with him. And to the chil- 
dren, their father was not quite the same. They 
missed his uniform ; it had always inspired in 
them pride and respect. They missed also that 
air of careless relaxation, which was natural in a 
soldier on furlough, but not desirable in the 
master of a home to be arranged on a permanent 
basis. So that Sir Rolfe Torquil was in many 
respects unlike the man whom they remembered 
as Colonel Torquil. 


The Beads of Tasmer, 


23 


His return home and his accession to the 
estate had made but a slight sensation among 
his people. The tenantry of an English baron 
would have eaten and drunken, and shouted 
themselves hoarse with hurrahs for their new 
master. Sir Rolfe expected nothing of the 
kind. Such a welcome would have almost 
offended him. Torquil was in the very heart of 
the old Catholic district of the north, and in its 
religious and social aspects a flat contradiction 
to every other part of Scotland. Here the 
pious, melancholy Celt, cradled in mists and 
bringing his daily life into constant sympathy 
with the church, was both by nature and educa- 
tion inclined to a grave and serene seriousness. 

He lived in nearly constant danger, either on 
the ocean or the wild, precipitous mountains; 
and he lived almost with prayer upon his lips. 
Centuries ago, the grand faith of Iona, Tyree 
and Coll had found among these somber lochs 
and dusky hills a fitting refuge, and under the 
little black-thatched cottages of Kintail and Tor- 


24 


The Beads of Tasmer. 


quil they had preserved the faith of their fathers. 
And not because they had been hidden away 
from the world and its trials ; for to the last 
hour they stood by the Stuarts, fully compre- 
hending that their loyalty included their 
religion. 

In social life they remained quite apart. The 
names which thrilled the Lowland heart touched 
them not. They believed in King Fergus; they 
knew little of Sir William Wallace, and Robert 
Burns never sang for them. Duncan Ban Mac- 
Intyre and the seraphic psalms of their own 
saints touched them far more nearly. They 
were, however, neither rude nor ignorant, for 
one or two religious sanctuaries had always 
lifted their stately domes among these humble 
clachans, and pious priests and white-robed 
sisters had been their teachers and friends for 
unnumbered generations. 

So Sir Rolfe expected only the mannerly, kind 
greeting which was gladly given him. The men 
came to their doors, as they passed, and lifted 


The Beads of Tasmer. 


25 


their bonnets with a pious ejaculation. The 
women smiled placidly and dropped him a 
modest courtesy — a courtesy which expressed 
respect without a particle of servility. For they 
were all Mackenzies and Torquils; only Sir 
Rolfe was The Torquil, the head of their house, 
the chief of their sect, and, as such, entitled to 
their affection and respect. 

He felt its sincerity, and it warmed his heart, 
and brought a mist of tears into his bright, stern 
eyes. He was telling himself, as he entered his 
children’s presence, that no military honor or 
disciplined subservience could compare with 
regard so personal and so spontaneous. And 
their delight and love crowned his satisfaction, 
so that he went to his own rooms that night 
penetrated with grateful and pleasant emotions. 

As Donald had anticipated, he took possession 
of the apartments always occupied by the barons 
of Tasmer. They were situated in the south 
wing, facing the sea, and connected with an 
oratory in the old central tower. It was neces- 


26 


The Beads of Tasmer, 


sary that he should visit this oratory, for the 
most sacred charge of his father’s dying hours 
referred to it. He sat for some tim§ thinking, 
then he took from his pocket-book the last letter 
which he had received from the deceased baron, 
and he read the following portion : 

“ Be careful of the ivory beads you will find in the oratory; 
and do not be so foolish, son Rolfe, as to think all beyond 
your understanding superstition. I have been told, as I now 
tell you, that the fortune of Tasmer is, in some way unknown 
to me, influenced by them. They were brought here in A. D. 
1133 by Murdo Torquil, a true knight, who followed Tancred 
•to Sicily to the conquest of Jerusalem. He it was who built 
the church in which we still worship. Forget not to pray for 
your ancestors when you kneel before its altar. As he was 
dying he put the beads into the Torquil’s hand, and with them 
a writing which a wise Augustine monk from Feme, wrote 
out thus : 

“ ‘ Tellen these trewe wordse : 

Whaune Tasmer’s fortune shalle wane and faide, 

Thaune aske of the beads of Tasmer aide.' ” 

Sir Rolfe read this portion over again, and as 
he refolded the letter, there was no doubt on his 
face. Slowly, and with a marked solemnity of 


The Beads of Tasmer, 


27 


manner, he turned the key of the oratory door 
and closed it behind him. It was one of the 
small rooms contained in the walls of the tower ; 
but the stone had been covered with hangings 
of purple velvet. They were nearly a century 
old and frail with age, but the lustrous dye and 
strong silk pile of Genoa, even in decay, looked 
royal and handsome. The stone floor was 
uncovered, and there was only one piece of fur- 
niture in the room — a heavily carved oak lec- 
turn, holding an open parchment breviary and a 
rosary of large ivory beads, beautifully cut, but 
yellow with age. 

Light was admitted through a window of 
stained glass, and the last rays of the setting sun 
tinged with marvelous glory a large white 
crucifix standing clearly out against its purple 
background. With the holy sign Sir Rolfe 
lifted the beads, made rich by centuries of sup- 
plications, and kneeling at the foot of the cross, 
he recited not only the prayers appointed for 
the living, but also that solemn litany for the 


28 


The Beads of Tasmer, 


dead whose intercession is by virtue of the 
cross : 

“Give them, O Lord, eternal rest; and let 
perpetual light shine upon them.” 




CHAPTER IT. 

ROBERTA. 

“All the events of life are materials out of which we may 
make what we will.” Novalis. 

“ He who loses not his senses in love, has no senses to 
lose.” 

“ Beneath her eyelids deep 
Love lying seems asleep — 

Love, swift to wake, to weep. 

To laugh, to dream.” 

There was sunshine and clear air, and a good 
blow of fresh wind ; and in it the Sea Bird was 
dancing along the pulsing floor of the sea, and 
humming a pleasant tune as she went. She had 
been northward as far as the Gairloch, and was 
making for the little harbor of Torquil in the 


30 


Roberta, 


morning light; and Angus Mackenzie and a 
couple of young lads were the whole of her 
crew, and they were as merry a company as 
ever journeyed along those storied, cheerless 
seas. 

But this morning the gray Minch was dim- 
pling all over, and the boat, with a good wind 
from the northwest, “ went away like a lady.” 
The comparison was Donald’s. He was sitting 
with Angus on her deck, drinking their early 
cup of coffee. They were talking gayly, for 
they were always happy when they were 
together ; and it was evident that they had been 
much together for some weeks, for Donald’s 
skin had taken on that red-brown tint, which is 
only made by the salted wind of the sea. 

Keeping well in shore, they were surrounded 
by multitudes of sea-birds, whose shrill cries 
mingled not unpleasantly with the ringing 
Gaelic of the boys, and the stirring sound of 
bouncing water. 

What are the lads singing, Angus ?” 


Roberta. 


3 ^ 


“ A song about the Rover of Rochrya^i. It is a 
goot song whateffer. If you will be knowing 
it, you will say that it is a goot song.” 

“ How can I know it, when I understand so 
little Gaelic?” 

“ In the English, too, it will be ferry well. 
They were saying it would be like this — if you 
will be hearing it,” and Angus rolled out the 
last verse of the spirited sea song with all his 
own peculiar intonations : 

" Unstent and slack each reef and tack, « 

Gi’e her sail, boys, while it may sit ; 

She’s roar’d through a heavier sea before. 

An’ she’ll roar through a heavier yet. 

When landsmen sleep, or wake and creep. 

In the tempest’s angry moan. 

We dash through the drift, and sing to the lift 
Of the wave that heaves us on.” 

“ It is a good song, Angus, but I like Father 
Matthew’s song better.” 

There are other men, ay, there are other 
men who will be saying that also ; for there 


32 


Roberta, 


never was in the world such a boat-song as 
Father Matthew’s song.” 

“ Then let us sing it together as we are coming 
into harbor. Cheerily, Angus, sing with all 
your heart, and the birds will listen to us, and 
the wind and the water will be our chorus : 

“Boat, that bears me through foam and squall, 

You in the storm are my castle wall ; 

Though the sea blacken from bottom to top, 

From tiller to mast she takes no drop. 

“ On the tide top ! The tide top ! 

Wide, white breast of the cradling sea ; 

On the tide top ! The tide top ! 

That is enough for my boat and me ! 

“ She dresses herself, and goes gliding on, 

Like a lady in robes of Indian lawn ; 

For God has blessed her gunnel and wale. 

And oh ! if you saw her stretch out to the gale, 

“ On the tide top ! The tide top ! • 

Wide, white breast of the cradling sea ; 

On the tide top ! The tide top ! 

That is enough for my boat and me. - , ; 


Roberta. 


33 


“ Old rocks, ahoy ! Old hearts of stone ! 

Stooping so black o’er the beach alone. 

Answer me true : On the bursting brine 
Saw you ever a boat like mine? 

“ On the tide top ! The tide top ! 

Wide, white breast of the cradling sea ; 

On the tide top ! The tide top ! 

That is enough for my boat and me !” 

They were singing- as the boat cast anchor ; 
and as Donald climbed the hill, he burst out 
again and again into the stirring, swinging 
melody. In the firs he became suddenly silent. 
A figure was approaching him — a tall, spare 
man, with an air of authority and contemplation. 
As they met, their faces brightened. 

“ Father, your blessing !” And in the twilight 
of the firs, the father’s hand was lifted a moment 
over the young head, reverently bared and 
bent. 

“ My son, God give you His blessing. Where 
have you been ? It is the fifth day since you 
left Tasmer.” 


34 


Roberta. 


“ Northward to the Gairloch. It was a fine 
sail. If you had been with us, it would have 
been much better. Last night, off Scalpa, we 
sang the Ave Mary^ and missed your help. 
Some fishing-boats were near, and they sang 
with us ; but we missed your voice, dear 
Father.” 

Now, Donald, are you going home ?” 

“ Yes, Father.” 

“ That is right. Sir Rolfe is troubled about 
you. You do not please him lately. A son 
should be obedient.” 

Donald’s face showed a little resentment. 

“ I try to be obedient. It is very hard some- 
times, Father.” 

Have you considered well the words I gave 
you to read ? — ‘ It is much more secure to be in 
a state of subjection than in authority.’ ” 

“ But a young man may have an opinion of 
his own?” 

“‘If God be amongst us, we may sometimes 
give up our opinion for the sake of peace.’ ” 


Roberta, 


35 


‘‘ But if I am certainly right ?" 

“ ‘ Although thy opinion be good, yet if, for 
God’s sake, thou leavest it, to follow that of 
another, it will be more profitable to thee.’ 
These are the counsels of one wiser and holier 
than most mortals.” * 

He passed gravely on with the words, and 
Donald, troubled at the reproof and the obliga- 
tion implied in it, reached Tasmer in an 
unhappy and dissatisfied mood. It was yet 
early, and in the entrance hall he saw Fergus, 
the oldest servant in the castle, pottering about 
among the antlers and shields and dusty old 
flags. As Donald appeared, he dropped all pre, 
tences, and went to meet him, 

“ It wass a goot wind that blew you home, 
Maistir Tonalt. Sir Rolfe is the angry man; 
the angriest man in all Ross, is he whateffer.” 

“ Have I done anything wrong, Fergus, while 
I was out of sight and hearing ?” 

* Thomas a Kempis — The following of Christ, — Chap. 9, 


36 


Roberta. 


“ You haf been strafaiging aal over the 
Minch ; you haf been more as four days away ; 
and you know there iss company in the house, 
and Sir Rolfe is not in the mood to be doing the 
honors to any man, no, nor yet to the saints 
themselves.” 

Donald made no further remark, but he went 
up-stairs to change his sea-suit, fretted and 
unhappy. With a heart full of love and of good 
intentions, he seemed quite unable to satisfy his 
father. It was scarcely the youth’s fault, for the 
things in which he offended were parts and 
results of circumstances which Donald Torquil 
had no power to alter or control. 

In the first place, his presence in the castle 
was not desirable. There was really no place 
for him, no duty to fulfil ; and as Sir Rolfe fre- 
quently suffered from those diseases common to 
East Indian officers, Donald was a constant pres- 
entation to the nervous, suspicious man, of an 
heir waiting for his decease. Generally, he 
knew well that the suspicion was false and cruel, 


Roberta, 


37 


but there were hours when he half-believed it, 
and when it humored his ilhtemper to say so. 
That momentary shadow of Donald in The 
Torquil’s chair, which had darkened his own 
welcome home, was, in a dim, unacknowledged 
way, the key to the treatment of his son ; per- 
haps because it interpreted some unvoiced 
regret or resentment in his own delayed inheri- 
tance. 

Also, he was annoyed by his inability to pro- 
vide lor Donald without seriously curtailing his 
own plans. He felt that the youth ought to 
have his commission, but to give it to him 
would not only necessitate the outlay of much 
ready money, but also the obligation of an allow- 
ance sufficient to maintain the honor of the 
Torquils among his associates. It was true the 
late baron had thus provided for him, and often 
at serious personal inconvenience. He could 
remember years when his remittances must 
have been the result of great self-denial on the 
part of the whole Tasmer household. But he 


38 


Roberta. 


told himself that he was placed in very different 
circumstances. The late baron had been a keen 
sportsman ; he asked no other pleasure or 
occupation, and it was economically at his own 
doors. 

The late baron had no daughter to marry ; he 
was not therefore compelled to entertain com- 
pany and to keep up the retinue fashionable 
society demanded. Sir Rolfe was fond of his 
daughter ; his fatherly instinct toward her was 
without a breath of suspicion, and her beauty 
was a source of great pride to him. He was 
anxious to give her every advantage, and to do 
this, and also to make Donald the allowance 
suitable to an officer in a good cavalry regiment, 
was beyond his power. But he constantly 
reflected that Donald was only twenty-two 
years old, and that he could very well wait a 
little, and allow his sister to have such advan- 
tages as are supposed necessary for the matri- 
monial settlement of a girl. 

It was such reflections as these which colored 


Roberta. 


39 


the first weeks of life at Tasmer after Sir Rolfe’s 
return. Still, no one becomes unkind or unjust 
at once. There must be an aggregation of small 
wrongs, and for these time is necessary. Other 
resisting powers against evil were also ever 
steadily at work. Sir Rolfe was yet, in the 
main, obedient to his confessor, Father Matthew 
Contach, a man of lofty ideals and spotless purity 
of action ; and still his guardian angel, with 
prayers unutterable and never-ceasing vigils, 
kept watch over the soul committed to it ; for 
other friends may grow weary, and lose patience, 
and cease to love, but a man’s guardian angel is 
his soul’s oldest and truest friend ; from his 
first breath unto his last breath, it will never 
leave nor forsake him. 

Eyes watch us that we cannot see. 

Lips warn us that we may not kiss ; 

They wait for us — and starrily 

Lean toward us from Heaven’s lattices.* 

* “ For He shall give His angels charge over Thee, to keep 
thee in all thy ways .” — Psalm xci ; 1 1. 


40 


Roberta, 


Thus swayed by opposing influences, Sir 
Rolfe was neither wholly good nor wholly bad. 
There were days in which his son’s candid, joy- 
ous temper and handsome person gave him 
pride and pleasure, and in which he was kind 
and even just to him. In such a mood he had 
bought the Sea Bird for Donald, and told him 
while he was waiting his commission to make 
himself familiar with the neighboring coasts and 
islets. 

“ For,” said he, as he solemnly signed himself, 
“ they are girt with the solitary caves and ruined 
churches of the early saints.” 

The boat had been a real friend. When the 
domestic atmosphere was cloudy, Donald usually 
stole away in it, and found upon the ocean’s 
breast the companionship and sympathy it has 
for all who love it. With his own unrest, its 
unrest blent, until both alike heard the divine 
whisper— Peace ! Be still.” Or he drifted on 
placid seas into lovely bays, empty of all earth’s 
noises, but full of the presence of God. Or 


Roberta, 


41 


Angus Mackenzie went with him, and they had a 
real fight with wind and waves, and in the close 
strait between lite and death, easily forgot the 
petty vexations for which there is no remedy but 
that sufferance so intolerable to impatient youth. 

Very often, however, Angus could not go 
with him. The fishing had to be attended to, 
and Angus was his father’s chief helper. So 
Donald ventured out with only a couple of boys 
from the village, and gradually learned how to 
manage the boat that was “ his castle wall,” and 
keep her cleverly “ on the tide top.” At first, 
when Angus was not with him, he hugged the 
shore closely, for the narrow seas were full of 
races and contrary currents, and also subject to 
sudden squalls, needing not only the most alert 
movements, but also a knowledge of the elements 
which was almost a prescience. 

One day, soon after the Sea Bird had been 
given him, he wanted to go northward, but 
Angus could not leave the nets. It was an 
exquisite day in August ; there would be a full 


42 


Roberta. 


moon at night, and Donald felt all the magic of 
the lonely sea by anticipation. He was yet a 
novice about managing his boat, and in the after- 
noon of the second day, a breeze came out of 
the northeast, and flew round to the southeast, 
with a thunderstorm among the Alps of Tor- 
ridon. He had only two lads with him, and 
thought it best to up helm and run for it. For 
a few miles the boat bore down the wind, the 
breeze hardening and the sea rising all the time. 
The small topmast was bending like a whip, and 
pretty soon it went with a crash that made 
Donald, for the moment, let go the helm with 
fright. After another blow, the topmast gear 
got tangled up with the main rigging, the hal- 
yards were badly jammed, and though boys 
are generally willing to do reckless things on a 
boat, Donald’s helpers were quite unable to get 
the mess cut away. 

Fortunately there was a little smack in sight. 
It rounded cleverly up alongside the Sea Bird, 
and one of the occupants asked what was the 


Roberta, 


43 


mischief. But it was easier to see the mischief 
than to listen to any description of it, and before 
Donald had finished speaking, the interrogator 
and a girl who stood by his side were on board. 
Then no explanations were necessary. The girl 
took the helm, and the man went to work with 
a will, and with Donald’s help, the loose gear 
was cast adrift and the boat made as snug as 
was possible under the circumstances. The 
smack had sheared off. The wind was rising, 
the waves running wildly, and after a busy, wet 
hour, Donald was glad to find the Sea Bird, 
under the girl’s hand, making for a misty little 
cove in the shadow of Ben Bhreach. 

Very soon they were in smooth water, and 
then Donald looked more closely at his helpers. 
The man was evidently a clergyman. When he 
put back his fisher’s oil-skins he showed the 
black broadcloth and white bands of his profes- 
sion ; and ere Donald could speak, he said : 

‘‘ I am David Balfour, Free Kirk minister of 
Ellerloch. Yonder stone house is my manse, 


44 


Roberta, 


and both I and my daughter Roberta will be 
glad to give you shelter to-night. It will be a 
bad night, Roberta !” 

“ It will be a very bad night — at sea.” 

Then Donald turned to the girl who still stood 
by the helm. She had flung back from her head 
the tartan hood which had hitherto almost hid 
her face, and she fully enjoyed Donald’s sur- 
prise. For Roberta Balfour was no ordinary 
Scotch beauty ; many people doubted if she 
were a beauty at all. Her own sex was inclined 
to deny her even a moderate share of good 
looks ; but to those who could feel the girl’s 
charm, she was of the grandest type of woman- 
hood, tall, supple, strong, full of an intense 
vitality, with the free, haughty carriage of a 
young deer on the mountains. Her head was 
large and finely formed ; she had a great deal of 
black hair, strong and wavy ; a wide, low brow ; 
large brown eyes ; a nose rather flat, and broad 
at the end, with wide nostrils ; and a well- 
formed chin below a lovely mouth, red and full, 


Roberta. 


45 


and showing white, even teeth. When Donald 
first saw her, it was under unusually favorable 
circumstances. She loved the sea, and in an 
encounter with its roughest moods rose to her 
grandest beauty. 

She added a few words of welcome to her 
father’s invitation, and crowned them with a 
smile beyond all words. The evening was like 
some blessed trance to Donald. He saw her 
moving about the manse parlor, making tea, fill- 
ing the minister’ pipe, lighting the candles ; and 
he heard her speaking in some glorified tongue, 
that only men in love ever hear. Her clear, 
musical laugh moved his pulses in a joyful meas- 
ure ; her little plaintive songs made him divinely 
sad. He could not sleep; he did not want to 
sleep. He sat by the fire in a kind of rapture, 
and thought over every change in her exquisite 
face and every tone in her voice. He recalled 
her moods and attitudes. He could have wept 
with joy. 

“ I have found her whom my soul loveth,” he 


46 


Roberta, 


said, softly ; and the noblest nature of the man 
was touched by the reflection. Blessed Virgin 
Mary,” he whispered, “ Lover of all pure women, 
to Thee I offer the first moments of my delight.” 

And then humbly kneeling, he recited the five 
joyful mysteries and the Salve Regina, Doubt- 
less, it was the first time the Blessed Among 
Women had been honored under the roof; but 
Donald thought not, and felt not, any incon- 
gruity in the whole universe. He had listened 
to the minister reading his appointed portion 
and making his usual household prayer, and that 
as well as all which had been said and done, had 
only been a part of the wonderful state in which 
he found himself. 

For two days he lingered at Ellerloch. He 
climbed the hills with Roberta ; he sailed the 
bay with her. They went into the garden 
together, and he helped her to gather the late 
roses, and the raspberries and currants for the 
table. He had found his 'Eden, and, as yet ^ noth- 
ing that could trouble had entered it. 



CHAPTER III. 

CROSS PURPOSES. 

It is needless to say that Donald’s visits to 
Ellerloch were constantly repeated. Under 
Roberta’s instructions he soon became expert in 
handling a boat on that coast. He got to know 
every shadow from the blue Canisp and the 
white crests of Torridon — in fact, Sir Rolfe had 
just cause to complain of his continual absence, 
his dislike to Tasmer, and his apparent infatua- 
tion for salt water. 

But his disapproval did not touch the real 
truth. He suspected no love affair. He was 
quite sure that Donald delighted in his boat 
because she was his own — because he was mas- 
ter within her small boundaries — because to be 


48 


Cross Purposes, 


at sea released him from all obligations to him- 
self. 

Naturally .this belief was irritating. Sir Rolfe 
was fond of authority, and he had been used to 
exercise it. Donald was very like a deserter in 
his eyes. The assurance of Fergus that Sir 
Rolfe was the angriest man in Ross was not that 
September morning very much exaggerated. 
And by this time Donald had begun to realize 
that his father had some cause to be angry. He 
had spent the past five or six weeks journeying 
between Torquil and Ellerloch. If the journey 
had been the business of the Sea Bird, he could 
not have been more regularly upon the water- 
way. 

He expected his father’s call with some trep- 
idation. He was prepared to make apologies 
and promises. But a night’s sleep had calmed 
Sir Rolfe. God’s good angels visit men 
a-dreaming, and God has lessons for the night 
season. Many a man goes to bed angry, and 
rises chidden and quiet; and he tells no one who 


Cross Purposes. 


49 


has been reasoning with him or reproving him. 
Donald was astonished and touched by his 
father’s gentleness ; he felt ashamed of his 
neglect, and said so. 

“ Father, 1 have made a selfish use of your 
gift, I fear. I have been so happy with the Sea 
Bird, that I have neglected you and Sara. I 
will do better.” 

“ The winter weather will help you, Donald. 
However, your duty will now be at Tasmer. 
Have you heard that we have visitors ?” 

“ Fergus told me of Lord Lenox and a Mr. 
Maclane.” 

“ Yes. Lenox is the son of an old comrade. 
He has inherited very unexpectedly. I met him 
in London.” 

“ I never heard you speak of Mr. Maclane.” 

“ I do not know him particularly. He is a 
friend of Lord Lenox. But he is very rich, and 
I expect him to rent Glen Mohr as a shooting- 
ground next year. I shall put up a ‘ box ’ for 
him before then ; at the present, however, he is 


50 


Cross Ptir poses. 


our guest for a short time. You will, of course, 
do all you can to make the visit agreeable.” 

He spoke in a hurried, decided way, as if to 
prevent any expression of opinion. Donald was 
not prepared to speak, and, indeed, he hardly 
knew what to say. A sense of indignation was 
in his heart, but he was compelled to restrain 
the feeling. How could he interfere with his 
father’s plans ? He remembered that once 
before, when he had offered some objections to 
a very trivial matter. Sir Rolfe had haughtily 
reminded him that he would have the right to 
alter it when he was Baron of Tasmer. 

And yet his burning cheeks and air of 
restraint did not escape Torquil. 

Donald will be hard to manage,” he 
reflected ; “ but, willing or unwilling, the thing 
must be done. I stood at bay in the Kyber 
Pass, thirty to one against me, and came out 
victor. Shall I let Donald and a few peasants, 
or even Father Contach, move me? No! By 
every Torquil that has lived before me, I will 


Cross Purposes. 


51 


do for Tasmer the thing I know is the best. 
Donald may be against me, but they that were 
before me will be my helpers — there is a 
good company of them, even if I go no further 
back than Knight Murdo Torquil. He could 
think forward for his race ; why should not I ?” 
And then, moved by some sudden impulse, he 
went into the oratory, lifted the old knight’s 
beads and knelt down with them in his hands. 

In the meantime, Donald had gone to his sister’s 
room. She had been in the fir-woods, and still 
sat before the fire with her mantle around her 
and her bonnet in her hand. An air of melan- 
choly or dissatisfaction was on her face. She 
did not answer Donald with her usual impulsive 
affection. Half-weqrily she turned her head 
and ejaculated: 

“ You, Donald !” 

“ Whom else did you expect?” 

‘‘Any one but you. You live at sea — or 
somewhere else — now. Your talk is of the 
Gairloch, but there are lochs nearer, perhaps.” 


52 


Cross Purposes, 


“ Are you cross, Sara?” 

“No; but I am a little out of heart, Donald. 
Things have not been as we expected, have 
they? Father is changed ; there is no use try- 
ing to ignore the fact. He has one idea now — 
money. I see that every one and everything is 
to serve this end.” 

“ What has he said to you?” 

“ That the estate has been sinfully mismanaged 
and neglected. He thinks it is his mission to 
redeem it. He refers constantly to the Lenox 
property, which marches north and east with 
Tasmer. It was almost bankrupt when Simon 
Lovat took it in charge ; now, it is steadily 
becoming valuable. Lovat has been to see 
father several times. They , talk and talk, and 
after every interview father is more thoughtful 
and disagreeable.” 

“ Do you know what Lovat proposes ?” 

“ Father will tell you soon enough. I hear of 
‘ clearances ’ continually. There’ are thirty-six 
cotters’ families in Glen Easter, and Lovat urges 


Cross Purposes. 


53 


their removal. Glen Mohr and BenTorquil and 
Torquil Woods are to be let — let^ Donald — as 
hunting-parks. There is not a clachan on the 
estate, or a rood of land that is not under consid- 
eration.” 

“ It is the doing of Lord Lenox.” 

“ He advised father, doubtless.” 

"‘And it is infamous.” 

“ It is — as it is.” 

“ And pray, what have Lord Lenox and this 
Mr. Maclane to do with Tasmer ?” 

“ Mr. Maclane will pay two thousand pounds 
a year for shooting over Glen Mohr. Think of 
that! The Torquil never had as much ready 
money at one time before. Lord Lenox brought 
him here ; they came last night, and were off to 
the hills by daybreak. Rory Mackenzie and 
Ban MacIntyre are gillying them. Father was 
angry that you were not at home to go with the 
party.” 

I am not going to — ” 

What nonsense I They are our guests.” 


54 


Cross Purposes. 


“ Guests do not pay two thousand pounds a 
year for a little shooting. Fancy grandfather 
renting out a few grouse.” 

“ But Lord Lenox is our guest and Mr. Mac- 
lane is his friend.” 

Do you like them ?” 

1 have seen them for about three hours. 
Lenox is handsome, masterful, perhaps cunning. 
I may wrong him. Maclane, I should think, is a 
right-headed, right-hearted man. But I was 
thinking of many other things last night ; they 
came very unexpectedly, the castle was not in 
condition for visitors, and 1 was troubled about 
my own dress. Oh, dear me, Donald ! I feel as 
if we were in the shadow of some long calamity. 
Our happy past is over.” 

“ As for the past, let it go, Sara. It is like a 
fire burned out ; it cannot be rekindled. But I 
see no reason for you to sigh over the future. 
Father Matthew told me to make a special 
prayer against that sin. He said it was a great 
folly if I saw a stone in the road to immediately 


Cross Purposes, 


55 


begin wondering what I should do if the stone 
became a wall, and I had to get over it. Per- 
haps if there is a stone in our way we may pass 
around it or throw it out of the way. At any 
rate, it is not a wall just yet, Sara.” 

Sara rose and drew her mantle around her. 
There was an expression of determination on her 
lovely face. It 'was evident that her womanly 
instinct had divined the tendency of events as 
yet scarcely spoken of. 

“ You will see, Donald,” she said, sadly, “ that 
for the glory of Tasmer, father will demand our 
entire co-operation. You will be expected to 
work with Lovat in its ‘ clearance I to marry 
whoever can bring it prosperity.” 

“ Every Torquil is my kin. I will help no 
man, not even father, to drive them from Tor- 
quil braes or Tasmer hills. And if I am true to 
them, you will be true to yourself, Sara? Oh, I 
know you will be true to yourself !” 

I can be true as you are to the Torquils. 
They are my kin also.” 


56 


Cross Purposes, 


There was a moment’s silence, and then Sara 
moved slowly toward the door. Donald inter- 
cepted her, took her hands, and said, with eyes 
humid with feeling: 

“ Dearest sister, marry no man unless you love 
him. That is a sacrifice far too great. Marriage 
without love ! Who can measure such a sor- 
row, such a degradation ?” 

“ Are you in love ? You speak as if you were, 
Donald.” 

I fear these guests. Lord Lenox — ” 

“ Is too poor. Father thinks not of him.” 

“And Mr. Maclane?” 

“ Is certainly very rich ; but — ” 

“ But what, Sara ?” 

“ Love is not bought in the market-place.” 
And with the open door in her hand, she threw 
back to him a glance so radiant, so commanding 
and self-sufficient, that she seemed to stand for a 
moment in its glory and to make sunshine 
where she stood. 



CHAPTER IV. 

UNDERCURRENTS. 

We do but guess at one another darkly ’mid the strife 
That thickens round us ; in this life of ours 
We are like players, knowing not the powers 
Nor compass of the instruments we vex, 

And by our rash, unskillful hands perplex 
To straining discords.” 

“ What talk is there of fathers, when there is such a man 
as Orlando ?” 

After his conversation with his sister, Donald 
took his gun, and passing through the fir-wood 
at its narrowest part, was soon on the wild 
heath beyond it. He was not a keen sportsman, 
and this morning his solitude was more to him 
than game. After an hour’s tramp, he came 
suddenly in sight of a grand stag — a mighty 



Uiider cur rents. 


58 

beast, with a stretch ot horns like the half of a 
cart-wheel. From his nostrils the breath was 
pouring like smoke, and his great yellow body 
glistened in the sun. Donald could see the per- 
fect cup of three points surmounting either 
antler, and the animal’s bellowing filled the little 
corrie with its hollow, angry roar. He could 
have shot him easily, and for a moment was 
inclined to do so. “ For he is a ten-pointer, if 
not a royal,” he thought, “ and it would be some- 
thing of a triumph to take home such a prize — a 
respectable introduction to Lenox and Maclane 
— and father would like it, I know.” But he 
deliberately let the chance pass. Poor fellow ! 
Why should I sla)* him ? He is so eager and 
happy and with the thought the gun was 
lowered. 

The kind act put him into one of his best 
moods; after it, he had no desire to kill the 
birds around him. The cock grouse strutted 
fearlessly with his mate within easy range, and 
Donald was content to watch the bird’s bright 


Undercurrents, 


59 


crimson comb and rich, brown plumage, and to 
smile at his lordly attentions to the plainer hen- 
bird. The whirring creatures did not otherwise 
stir him ; even the kick-ic-ic of a covey of grouse 
put no tingle in his fingers. For a good soul 
has infinite relationships with nature, full of 
mystery in their beginnings, but leading it to 
the glow of sacrifice and the ideality of love by 
ways quite incomprehensible. 

Donald’s love made him a better man. 
Thinking of Roberta, he was always astonished 
to find himself capable of actions above the 
usual standard of his life. Thus, in some way, it 
was Roberta that saved the stag’s life, and gave 
the cock-grouse and his shy mate safety. He 
was so happy in his love, and yet there appears 
to be a divine necessity for joining joy and 
sorrow together. As surely as we climb some 
mount of happiness, we find that the way of sor- 
row lies parallel with it. Donald was so happy, 
and yet he was anxious and unhappy ; for Sara’s 


6o 


Undercurrents, 


words had only put into tangible form vague 
suspicions familiar to his heart. 

He perceived that great changes were to take 
place at Tasmer ; he understood that any 
change there must, in some way, re-act upon his 
own life. He was curious, and yet uneasy, 
about their visitors ; he had an idea that people 
who. were permitted to come in contact with 
other existences had some message to deliver to 
them, or some influence to exert upon them. 
They were to be the touch of fate. 

So musing, with Roberta Balfour always as an 
underlying thought, he wandered until the 
short winter day began to close. Without 
being conscious of it, he had instinctively drawn 
near to the ocean. Forever it called to his 
soul as a mother calls to her child. In joy or 
sorrow, in doubt or tremor of any kind, Donald 
felt its mysterious attraction creep into his 
blood, and he answered the voice that no one 
but himself heard. To-night, it was tossing at 
his feet, and echoing with sounds that said: 


Undercurrents, 


6i 


“ Come / Come ! Come U plainly enough to 
him. 

He turned reluctantly away from the tempta- 
tion ; catching in the gray light the gray sails of 
the Sea Bird^ and feeling an almost irresistible 
longing to be in her snug cabin on the tide top. 
The castle was all alight as he emerged from 
the gloom of the firs ; and a great wood-fire 
threw shifting lustres and shadows over arms 
and antlers and thick modern rugs and heavy 
furniture. In the silver wall-sconces there was 
also a profusion of light, and Donald wondered, 
as he went up the usually dim stairway, what 
motive Sir Rolfe had in such extravagance. 

It had the effect, however, of making him 
particularly careful as to his own appearance, 
and if any old thane of Ross could have seen the 
slim, handsome youth in his broadcloth and fine 
linen, he must have wondered greatly at his 
descendant. He found Sara already in the 
drawing-room, and looking exceedingly beauti- 
ful. Her dress of blue silk added some marvel- 


62 


Undercurrents, 


ous charm to the dull glow of her hair and the 
snow and rose of her complexion, and Donald 
looked at her with a brotherly pride and 
pleasure. 

They were standing together on the hearth- 
*rug, in a loving, confidential attitude, when Mr. 
Maclane entered the room. He thought they 
were the handsomest couple he had ever seen, 
and he stood still a moment to please himself 
with the living picture. Then Sara turned, and 
holding Donald’s hand, went forward a few steps 
to meet him. 

“ This is my brother, Mr. Maclane — my 
brother Donald. And what kind of sport have 
you had, sir ?” 

‘‘ I am glad to see you, sir ; and as for sport, 
Miss Torquil, I think the pleasures of sport are 
very much overrated. 1 have been wading 
through marshes, I have had my feet wet, and 
shivered up and down hills, and worn myself 
out with carrying a gun. I have killed three 
fine cock grouse and a few hens, and I feel like a 


Under C2i r rents . 


63 


murderer. I only hope 1 shall not be asked to 
eat my victims.” 

“ That is not the usual way of describing- a 
da)^’s shooting, sir,” said Donald, smiling. 

“ No, I suppose it is not.” 

“ Yet 1 have been in thorough sympathy with 
you to-day. I took my gun to the hills, but I 
could not make up my mind to destroy life 
either. The innocent creatures were so happy. 
If I had fired, I should have felt like an 
assassin.” 

Come now, I like that — and from a young 
man, too ! I think we are going to be friends, 
sir.” 

He spoke with an air of candor there was no 
resisting, although he was not what is usually 
called a handsome or fascinating man. Nature 
had not carefully finished her work in Andrew 
Maclane ; but he was cast in a noble mold, and 
the difficulties and struggles of his life had given, 
combined with intelligent and persevering cul- 
ture, an almost sculptural appearance to features 


64 


Undercurrents. 


originally not fine. He spoke with the burr, 
and something also of the homely patois of a 
man born just south of the Solway, and it was 
worth while hearing him speak to a fool accord- 
ing to his folly. He had been, always engaged 
in business, and he was now the hand to which 
a thousand other hands were extended. And 
yet he had ever found time for communion with 
books ; indeed, hitherto, he had been fonder of 
books than of men ; and had made his best 
friends in the land of shadows, among images of 
departed heroes and benefactors. 

He was so honest, that Donald understood in 
five minutes that he was in love with Sara; that 
it was very likely his first love for woman, and 
would just as likely be his last. He could not 
conceal his admiration, although it was blent 
with a humility which would probably be his 
worst antagonist ; for what woman ever thought 
better of a lover for his timidity ? 

As they stood thus together. Sir Rolfe and 
Lord Lenox entered. Sir Rolfe had a moment’s 


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U ndercu rren ts. 


65 


intense satisfaction in the fine appearance of 
his children. “ They are true Torquils,” he 
thought, and he cast a momentary glance at his 
companion, as if to judge what effect so much 
personal beauty had upon him. 

But Lord Lenox was not a man easy to read. 
He did not permit his countenance to index his 
emotions, and its general expression was of that 
complex character which is the natural result of 
complex civilization. He was the young man of 
his generation, who had been everywhere, and 
who could do everything — selfish, ambitious, 
but withal notably good-looking, and possessed 
of that air of distinction only given by inter- 
course with men on the highest social peaks. 
Lenox, moreover, was a genuine sportsman. 
He could imagine no greater pleasure than fol- 
lowing grouse through the heather— or waiting 
for a red stag on the misty mountain tops — or 
putting a fine grilse through its facings, with 
fifty yards of line. 

Maclane was a different man. The love of 


66 


Under ctt r^^ents. 


the chase — inherent in all — had in his case been 
directed toward wealth, power and position. 
He had neither the natural aptitude nor the 
physical stay necessary for a recreation that 
was indeed repugnant to him in other respects. 
With far greater zest, he turned with Donald to 
the sea and the boats. 

If I am to get wet and be untidy, I would 
rather be wet with fresh salt water than with 
black moss water,” he said, “and I like the 
swing of the boat far better than tramping about 
steep hillsides. And then, Donald, there is no 
necessity to kill anything at sea. It would not 
be ^ sport ’ to shoot that diver in motley, and her 
red-breasted swain, or even to bag that ugly, 
greedy-looking cormorant flapping his dark 
vans and protruding his long bare neck. 
Would it ?” 

When Maclane made this remark they were 
on the Sea Bird, sailing easily before the wind. 
The mysteries of the northern night Avere 
gathering around them, pale-sailed ships vanish- 


U nder currents. 


67 


ing like phantoms beyond the horizon, and along 
the restless sea shadows everywhere fighting 
the cold lights falling from moon and stars to 
pierce and scatter them. The eerie sense of the 
lonel}^ ancient ocean, soon grew predominant. 
The present life became faint ; they began to 
talk solemnly of things beyond it. And it is 
such subjects that unlock the hearts of men, and 
make them free of each other’s best nature ; for 
very few are as irreligious as they appear to be. 

Donald was touched by confidence so freely 
given him by a man many years his senior, and 
who had proved his manhood by conquering 
poverty and ignorance and taking his place 
among the nobles and law-givers of his age. In 
return, he felt that he must be equally frank, but 
there was nothing in his young life that 
appeared worth talking about but Roberta 
Balfour. 

‘‘ My days had been spent in study and play,” 
he said, “ until I met her. She discovered my 


68 


Undercurrents . 


soul to me. It is only about two months old, I 
think.” 

‘‘Do you think that? Oh, no, Donald ! If 
you have really thought on that subject, you 
must feel that your soul is older than any reck- 
oning. It had no age when it was incarnated. 
It will have no age when it shall free itself from 
your mortal vesture. It will not grow old in 
eternity. But let us sail as far as Ellerloch. I 
would like to see this girl you love so dearly. 
Is she handsome ?” 

“ I think so ; but when one discovers the soul, 
the body is not much. It is Roberta I love, and 
yet I am not indifferent to the sweetness of her 
voice, the charm of her bright face, and the 
grace of all her motions. Oh, no ! Altogether 
she is perfect. You will agree with me, I am 
sure.” 

“ And her father?” 

Donald’s face fell a little. 

“ He is a good man, I believe that ; but he is 
quiet and grave, and, I think, a little stern ; more 


U ndercti r rents. 


69 


so lately than when I first knew him. 1 am sure 
that he understands that I love Roberta.” 

“ You ought to speak to him, Donald. Set 
your love in a clear atmosphere — the sanction of 
earth and heaven — that is what it asks, and 
ought to have.” 

“Yes, but I am afraid to speak. Did I tell 
you that Mr. Balfour was a Protestant minister 
— a Free-Kirk minister?” 

“No. A Free-Kirk minister and a Scotch 
Lowlander. Oh, Donald, I think that will com- 
plicate matters very much. I know the type : 
ruggedly conscientious and immovable as the 
Bass Rock about a principle. Balfour is a name 
among their worthies. Possibly he is of Cove- 
nanting stock ; and if so, he looks upon the 
Shorter Catechism as the pillar of immortal 
salvation and the Magna Charta of Scotland’s 
safety and prosperity. Does he know that you 
are a Roman Catholic?” 

“ I am not sure. I have not told him, and he 
is only a stranger in Ross. Four years ago he 


70 


Undercurrents, 


came from Galloway. In his own rough boun- 
daries, among the shepherds and fishers, he is 
almost worshiped. He is a better sailor than 
many of them; he is a good fisher; he is a 
learned scholar. Roberta says he is an eloquent 
preacher. I never heard him, but I know that 
he is a good pastor and no mean physician. His 
people rely on him for help in all their sickness 
and in all their sorrow.” 

“ He is a wonderful man, Donald. What is he 
doing in an obscure Highland parish?” 

“ Oh, indeed ! Maclane, it is the obscure 
parishes that need the wonderful men. Look at 
Father Contach ! He ought to be a bishop, and 
he is content to be a priest of Torquil. Don’t 
you think that a poor country priest fighting 
against the devil in his parish has a nobler and a 
harder fight than Alexander had?” 

No one can gainsay you, Donald. But it is 
the part of honor as well as of duty and pru- 
dence to speak plainly to Mr. Balfour. Roberta 


Undercurrents , 


7 ^ 


is his only child ; if he loves her he will surely 
sacrifice his prejudices to make her happy.” 

“ She is very dear to him. Will you really go 
as far as Ellerloch and see him ? You could say 
much for me that I cannot say for myself. Then, 
when you have prepared the way, I, also, will 
speak.” 

The proposal was not unpleasant to Maclane. 
He was happy at sea. He liked Donald’s 
society ; and he was glad of an opportunity to 
bind the young man to him by some such ser- 
vice. For his own heart was set upon Sara Tor- 
quil, and he was accustomed to compass all his 
desires by careful attention to every favorable 
ally. * 

The weather was not unpleasant. There was 
a young moon riding cold and still beyond the 
shifting clouds, and there was a bright starlight. 
In the gray glimmer they sat and talked, while 
the Sea Bird kept gallantly on her northern 
course. Just when there was a streak of lemon 
in the east, Donald sighted the low, gray manse 


72 


Undercurrents, 


at Ellerloch. Maclane was asleep ; but the 
lover’s heart and longing had kept him awake. 

Simple as Mr. Balfour’s life was, it was 
scarcely possible to call upon him before break- 
fast; and, indeed, Donald hoped he would see 
the boat, and come to the pier and ask them to 
take the meal with him. He had frequently 
done so in the beginning of their friendship ; 
and, although lately the kindness had been gen- 
erally omitted, Donald never could get over 
the hope of its renewal. 

Balfour saw the boat. Its fluttering flag was 
the first thing that met his eyes when he rose. 
The sight was evidently not one that gave the 
minister pleasure. His strong, rugged face 
grew as hard as if it were carved out of granite. 
But a great nicety about his raiment was one of 
David Balfour’s characteristics, and this morn- 
ing he did not neglect it. He brushed every 
speck of dust from his decent black coat, and 
threw aside one set of lawn neckbands because 
they fell short of the immaculate whiteness he 


Undercurrents, 


73 


demanded. But it was pride in office, rather 
than personal pride which made him so exacting. 
He was a servant of the King of Kings, and he 
felt that it behooved him to be pure in person as 
in heart. Yet he was much disturbed as he pro- 
ceeded with his toilet. His lips parted continu- 
ally in short ejaculations, regrets, resolves and 
quotations from The Book. 

“ I have always heard that to save a stranger 
from the sea was to bring calamity on one’s own 
house. It’s like it ! What for did I go to the 
help of yonder youth ? He was neither kith nor 
kin of mine. Think shame of yourself, David 
Balfour ! A man in trouble is more than kith or 
kin. If I have done foolishly, God save me 
from the harvest of my folly. My trust is in the 
Hope of Israel, the Saviour thereof in all times 
of trouble — what for am I thinking of trouble ? 
A young man’s fancy and a young girl’s dream ; 
that is all of the argument. But it is time it was 
settled, and I’ll settle it this very day, and then 


74 


Undercurrents. 


I’ll have neither word nor wittens of the matter 
again.” 

To such musings he deliberately dressed him- 
self, neither omitting nor hurrying any of his 
usual duties. When he entered the parlor, his 
heart felt that sudden glow of pious gratitude 
which every one experiences more or less in the 
actual presence of pleasant and comfortable sur- 
roundings. The fire was a picture in itself. It 
Avas in an old-fashioned basket-grate, glowing 
and blazing and crackling high up above a 
hearth-stone pipe-clayed white as snow. The 
brass fender and irons, the bright rug, the round 
table so prettily laid, the delicious smell of 
broiled salmon and hot cakes and good coffee — 
the general air of comfort and refinement, filled 
his soul Avith a sweet and gracious gratitude. 
The household Bible lay open upon its stand 
near his own chair. He went straight to it, and 
put his hand upon it, and vSaid, softly : 

Bless the Lord, oh, my soul ; and all that is 
within me, bless His holy Name !” 


Undercurrents, 


75 


He was reciting the thanksgiving psalm when 
Roberta entered the room. Hearing her foot- 
step he finished it, and then turned to meet her. 
Never had her beauty struck him so forcibly ; 
perhaps it was at this moment that he first real- 
ized how beautiful she was. Evidently she, also, 
had seen the Sea Bird. She had put on her best 
dress, a dark-blue cloth one, with a plain, ample 
skirt, a tightly-fitting bodice, and narrow bands 
of white linen at the throat and wrists. She 
needed no ornaments ; gold bracelets and 
brooches and rings would have been barbaric 
gold ” on such an incarnation of vital beauty. 
She had the dew of her youth, the glow of the 
fresh, salt air, a color that no words can describe, 
an air of happiness, of freedom, ot grace, that 
imparted itself like an atmosphere to the room 
as soon as she stood within it. 

“ Good-morning, father. Here is the Sea Bird 
again.’’ 

I have seen it, Roberta.” 

‘‘ Are you not glad, father ?” 


76 


Undercurrents , 


“You will be able to take care of yourself 
with that young man, Roberta ? It is little we 
know of him; and I am not caring to know 
more.” 

“ Father !” 

“ One will require to act judiciously, Roberta, 
with a person coming north with every wind 
that blows. He’ll be having a reason, and when 
a guest comes with a reason, there will be two 
sides to it, and we must watch for our own side. 
That is only prudent and right, Roberta.” 

“ You have been having bad dreams, father, or 
you have a touch of rheumatism, or there has 
been an evil spirit in your sleeping-room whis- 
pering bad, suspicious thoughts in your ear 
while you were sleeping. I never heard a more 
unkind observation from you.” 

“ Answer me this — answer me this, Roberta : 
Whom does young Torquil come here to see? 
Is it I, or is it you ?” 

“ How can I tell ?” 

“ Let us have no prevarication. II you were 


U n dercu rrefi is. 


77 


not here, do you think the Sea Bird would 
come to Ellerlock again? Tell me the truth, 
Roberta.” 

“She might not come so often.” 

“ She would not come at all.” 

“ I think Donald does like me.” 

“You know well he likes you. Why think or 
suppose about the thing you are sure of? Very 
well — or very ill, more likely — why does he 
not speak to me, as an honest man should, and 
say : ‘ I want to marry your daughter, sir ; and 
I have thus and so, to warrant my offer T Why 
does he not tell me who and what he is? If 
he wants to marry you, that is the way an 
honest man would do it.” 

“ Father, people do not bargain about wives, 
as they used to do. Money questions are not to 
be mixed up with love.” 

“ You are very much mistaken, Roberta. 
What do you know about love and marriage ? 
Money questions, in one shape or other, are at 
the foundation of marriage. An honest lover 


78 


Undercurrents. 


lays this foundation with the father before he 
talks love with the daughter. If the founda- 
tion is solid, you may build upon it all the 
air-castles you fancy. I am not pleased at 
Donald Torquil’s ways. I’ll say that plump and 
plain. And he will have to mend them if he 
would keep his welcome warm.” 

“ Do you not think that fathers can be too 
cautious ? Age and experience may not know 
everything. I speak respectfully, father.” 

Whoever said that age and experience knew 
everything? You will allow, though, that it is 
very likely fifty-five years may know more 
than eighteen years ?” 

“ Father, we have not had a nice breakfast, 
and it is your fault ; I was so happy when I saw 
the Sea Bird. After the exercise do go and 
meet Donald. If you have had a temptation in 
the night, give it the back of your hand behind 
you. Donald is a good young man ; good and 
true. Go and meet him kindly. It is beginning 


Undercurrents, 


79 


to rain, and we may have a storm. You cannot 
shut your door against him, father.” 

“Well, well! I see, Roberta, that you have 
arled your heart to him ; but you’ll mind this : 
If I find out that he is not a good youth, if he is 
not fit to be your husband, I will not allow him 
to speak another word to you. That is as fact 
as death. I’ll no need to say it again.” 

Then he arose and called in his household, 
and read the appointed portion, and sang the 
proper psalm, and prayed with an unfaltering 
faith and fervor. His eyes were shining and 
moist when he rose from his knees, and he 
spoke kindly to Roberta, as he put on his 
plaid and hat, and went down to the sea- 
shore. 

The clouds had fallen low, and were beating 
themselves against the earth in those whiffs of 
sharp rain so common on the west coast ; and 
Roberta knew the cabin of the Sea Bird would 
be damp and uncomfortable. “ Then father will 
be sorry for Donald, ” she thought, “ and he will 


8o 


Undercurrents. 


bring him here ; and I know that I may expect 
them in half an hour at any rate/’ 

In much less time she saw them coming, and 
perceived also with some curiosity that they 
were accompanied by a stranger. “ He looks 
far older than Donald ; perhaps he is Donald’s 
father and she put more fuel on the fire, and 
flecked the last speck of dust from the hearth, 
and ran up-stairs to see if her own hair and collar 
were in perfect order. By that time, the three 
gentlemen were in the small hall, and she went 
to meet them with the flush and light of welcome 
on her face. 

Greatly to her surprise and pleasure, she per- 
ceived that her father had some knowledge of 
Mr. Maclane. They had become friends at once, 
and were soon so deeply interested in their own. 
conversation that Donald easily slipped away 
from them to Roberta, who was in a small, light 
pantry making the pastry for the day’s dinner. 

Father appears delighted to meet your 
friend, Donald. Are they old acquaintances?” 


Undercurrents , 


8i 


Politically so. Maclane, who is a Member 
of Parliament, wrote a pamphlet in favor of the 
Scotch church, when she was in the thick of her 
late fight with the government ; a very clever 
pamphlet, indeed, Mr. Balfour thinks. Fancy 
Maclane writing a pamphlet, or bothering him- 
self about church government, with all else he 
has to do !" 

“ Indeed, Donald, church government is a 
very important affair. Father gave up one of 
the finest livings in Scotland on that very ques- 
tion. ‘ There is in it all the majesty of the Free 
Kirk,* as somebody said. I hear they have gone 
into the study, and if father begins to introduce 
his friends, it may take them all day to get 
through.” 

“ Especially as Maclane is a great book-lover 
.also. Oh, Roberta, what a happy day we are 
going to have !” 

For once fate was kind to all. Mr. Balfour 
and Mr. Maclane were in perfect harmony. As 
iron sharpeneth iron, their minds caught light 


82 


Undercurrents. 


and brilliancy from contact. Book after book 
was taken from the wealthy shelves and com- 
mented upon, and though, in the main, their 
opinions were at one, there were still differences 
sufficient to give their conversation a brisk and 
piquant individuality. 

Such intellectual contact was a rare mental 
treat to Mr. Balfour, and he gave himself up 
entirely to its enjoyment ; yet, amid all, he had 
a constant sense of his responsibility regarding 
Donald Torquil and his daughter. But if it had 
been difficult to speak hitherto, it was doubly so 
this day. Before a stranger whom he honored, 
he could scarcely introduce a subject so per- 
sonal, and one which, perhaps, would have to 
terminate in an entire withdrawal of his courtesy 
and friendship from Donald. Such hours of 
mental refreshment came to him so rarely, he 
could not bear to mar their harmony, and he 
resolved to suffer the relationship of the young 
people to go unchallenged during this visit. 

But no man may put back, the hour of fate ; 


Undercurrents, 


83 


and the knowledge which he had both desired 
and dreaded was given him in the most uncon- 
scious manner. It was not, however, until the 
visit was nearly over, and every one of the party 
had appreciated the enjoyment of thirty hours 
of such serene and innocent pleasure as rarely 
comes to mortals. Balfour and Mr. Maclane 
had expressed their different views on all their 
favorite topics, and Donald and Roberta had 
assured themselves, in many a sweet way, how 
unanimous their opinions were on the one only 
topic that filled their hearts. They had all 
enjoyed Roberta’s excellent cooking, they had 
sung some old songs together, and together felt 
the calm of the evening exercise ; and by thus 
mingling the joys of sense and soul, had tasted 
the purest cup of happiness. 

Sweet sleep and a calm breakfast followed the 
pleasant day, and about ten o’clock they rose to 
depart. The sky was clear, the wind at their 
back, and the sea had been beaten smooth by 
the heavy rain. 


84 


Undercurrents. 


‘^We shall make a quick trip home,” said 
Donald, his spirits insensibly rising, as he 
thought of the lively Sea Bird flying before the 
wind. 

He had Roberta’s hand clasped in his own, 
and they were walking slowly together across 
the shingle to the small pier. Mr. Balfour and 
Maclane were a little behind them. They were 
a trifle quiet and sad. 

“ I am sorry to leave you so soon, Balfour, 
but I shall never forget the day I spent with 
you.” 

“ Shall I not see you again before you go to 
southward ?” 

Not this year. My visit to Sir Rolfe Tor- 
quil is over ; but it is likely I may rent a shoot- 
ing-range from him next year.” 

“ Then Donaid’s father is a nobleman ?” 

'‘Has he not told you so? That is like 
Donald. Anything that would look like boast- 
ing would be hateful to him. He is a fine 
fellow.” 


Undercurrents, 


85 


“Still he should have told me. I have, a 
daughter — you see that he has won her love ; 
a baronet may think his son too noble for 
her !” 

“ Miss Balfour outranks any man, I care not 
what his station.” 

“ I surely think so. She is the daughter of 
one of God’s ministers, and he is king of kings. 
I have never heard Donald speak of brothers; 
is he the only son ?” 

“ The only son, and the heir. At present they 
are not rich, but the estate is large, and can be 
made very profitable under the new method. 
The family is a very old one ; the Torquils have 
been in Ross ‘ since the floods whateffer,’ as one 
of their gillies told me.” 

“ I have no skill in these Highland geneal- 
ogies, and I am a stranger in Ross.” 

“ They have held their own well. I suppose 
their isolation has saved them, for they have 
been a restless lot. It took Culloden to cure 
them.” 


86 


Undercurrents, 


“ Culloden cured many restless, troublesome 
families. They were for the Stuarts, then ?” 

Rank Jacobites. It was a matter of con- 
science with them. The Stuarts represented 
Catholicism, so they fought for the Stuarts. As 
a race, they considered them far from being 
* pretty fellows.’ The Torquils were too rug- 
gedly brave and honest for any other opinion.” 

“Then they are Roman Catholics? They are 
Roman Catholics at the present time ? Donald 
Torquil is a Roman Catholic? Do you mean to 
tell me these things are so ?” He spoke with a 
stern decision, and stood still, and looked 
squarely into Maclane’s face for the answer. 

“ Certainly, sir. Donald is a very devout 
Catholic. Without pretense or demonstration, 
I yet consider him a sincerely religious young 
man. The fact has struck me very pleasantly. 
It is a rare characteristic in young men now.” 

“ I am very sorry. Very sorry, indeed.” 

Sorry that the young man is religious ?” 

“That he is a Roman Catholic. You must 


Undercurrents. 


87 


understand this information means a heart-break 
to my Roberta. He ought to have told us — he 
ought to have told us ! He has behaved very 
badly. I will not speak to him again. I cannot 
speak now. Permit me to say farewell to you 
here, and make what apology you please for me. 
I will not see the young man now. I must think 
over the matter. It is a great blow to me, sir.” 

He showed it so plainly, Maclane understood 
the wisdom of his resolve. He had lost every 
vestige of color; his eyes were somber and 
troubled ; he could scarcely command his voice. 
For a moment or two, they stood saying the few 
courteous words that were all they could say 
under the circumstances. Donald and Roberta 
had gone on board ; they were so interested in 
themselves they had forgotten their companions. 
Mr. Balfour pointed out this fact, and turned 
away with an angry dejection, a look of mingled 
reproach, fear and sorrow, such as Maclane had 
never before seen, and which he knew he should 
never forget. 


88 


Undercurrents, 


The wretched father went straight to his 
home. He was angry when he parted with 
Maclane ; his anger gathered with every moment 
of Roberta’s stay ; and she lingered something 
longer than was necessary. The fresh wind, the 
bright morning, the presence of Donald, all 
tempted her to delay. She also grieved that 
her father should, for any reason, omit the last 
courtesy to Donald. Maclane, scarcely know- 
ing how to excuse him, had blundered out some- 
thing concerning a forgotten engagement — a 
thing Roberta did not believe in. So, partly as 
a compensation to her lover, and partly as a 
symptom of disapproval to her father, she stayed 
upon the Sea Bird until Mr. Balfour was well 
minded to put on his hat and plaid and go and 
bring her home. 

At this climax of his anger and impatience, 
she returned. He saw she had been crying ; 
that she was inclined to be silent and indiffer- 
ent ; that, in short, all her fine spirits and sunny 
smiles and pretty ways had disappeared with 


Undercurrents , 


89 


Donald, and he naturally enough resented the 
secondary place to which he had fallen. 

“ What is the matter with you, Roberta?” 

Nothing, father.” 

“ Why have you then altered so much? You 
were gay enough an hour ago.” 

“ Circumstances have changed, father.” 

“You mean that Donald Torquil is no longer 
here to be charmed ?” 

“ Donald was badly treated. Why did you 
not come fifty yards further and say good-bye 
to him ? I was ashamed of you, father ; and I 
never was ashamed of you before.” 

“ Never dare to say such words to me again, 
Roberta. When it is a question between a 
father and a lover, a good girl will believe her 
father to be right until she knows he is wrong. 
You have known me all your life — known me 
intimately ; you have known this youth a few 
weeks, and that only very slightly — whom 
should you trust first?” 


90 


U n dercu r rents. 


“ I hate that Maclane. I am sure he has told 
you some wicked lies about Donald.” 

“He told me that, which if Donald Torquil 
had been a gentleman, he himself had told me 
long ago. He told me that Donald is a Roman 
Catholic ; that his family have always been 
Roman Catholics — Jacobites and Roman Catho- 
lics ! Followers of the bloody Stuarts, and all 
their tyrannies and abominations !” 

“ The Stuarts are dead and gone, all of them. 
Is Donald to be hated for his ancestors ?” 

“Yes, he is! If a man is to be honored for 
his ancestors, just and right also is it that he 
should be hated for them. Because of what my 
ancestors did for the Covenant I have honor 
this day. Because of what Donald’s ancestors 
did against freedom and the kirk of Scotland, he 
shall have scaith and dishonor this day. Both 
conclusions are just. If the fathers eat sour 
grapes, then the teeth of the children must be 
set on edge. It is the word of the Lord, and I 
trust that neither I nor buirn of mine will dare 


Undercurrents, 


9 ^ 


to set themselves against the ways of the 
Almighty’s council.” 

“ What is your meaning, father ? Say the 
straight word to me. I do not want to hear 
Donald preached about.” 

“Do you want the straight, plain word ? 
You shall have it. It is that you neither shall 
see nor speak more with that young reprobate.” 

“Father! Can your word make any one 
reprobate ?” 

“ I ask God’s pardon. I know not that he is 
yet reprobate. It may be that His mercy will 
yet call the lad. But until then you shall 
neither see him nor speak with him nor write to 
him. If he had every perfection under the blue 
heaven and was a Roman Catholic, he should 
not have you for his wife. No, by the Solemn 
League and the Holy Covenant, he should 
not !” 

“ ' Though I speak with the tongues of men 
and angels, though I have the gift of prophecy, 
and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, 


92 


Undercurrents, 


though I have all faith so that I could remove 
mountains, and have not charity^ I am nothing/ 
They are not my words, father, and you need 
not be angry at me for them.” 

You are quoting Scripture, as women 
always quote it, clean beside the mark. Go to 
your own room, Miss Balfour, and consider 
your words and your ways ; for mind this : 
Nothings nothings nothing shall ev.er make me 
give a father’s welcome to Donald Torquil ! 
Do you think 1 am going to give the Torquils a 
chance to count the Balfour martyrs and con- 
fessors among their old papistical, paternoster- 
ing ancestors? I am not that wicked, I hope.” 

“ But, father—” 

Go your ways into solitude, and think shame 
of yourself. Miss Balfour. I have no other 
word to say to you at this hour.” 



CHAPTER V. 

SARA’S LOVER. 

** I have seen the desire of mine eyes. 

The beginning of love, 

The Season of kisses and sighs. 

And the end thereof.” 

* * * * Ht sK ♦ 

“ Mother most tender, help thy poor child. 

Haste with thy succor. Maid undefiled ! 

Amiable Mother, stainless and fair. 

Take a fair creature into thy care !” 

“Now for a dance before the wind,” said 
Donald, and he laid his hand upon the anchor 
chain, and, with a boy’s help, brought it aboard, 
hand over hand. Then the Sea Bird went flying 
down the Minch, ducking and plunging to the 
short rollers. Her sails were wet with the 
spray showers, and the wind pressed her almost 



94 


Saras Lover, 


like a solid wall — the keen life-laden wind of the 
wild North Sea — while Maclane and Donald 
experienced an exultation no one can understand 
who has not felt the glorious sense of freedom 
and power, that managing a boat with a brisk 
breeze and a high sea can give. 

The two men were smoking, both sensible of 
the cheering, inspiring air about them, and yet 
both a little thoughtful and silent. Donald had 
noticed the return of Mr. Balfour, and his heart 
had experienced one of those sudden premoni- 
tions of coming evil, which the wisest are unable 
to reason away. He waited a little to see if 
Maclane would offer any explanation of the cir- 
cumstance, but as he did not do so, Donald 
abruptly made the inquiry : 

“ Why did Mr. Balfour return home without 
bidding me good-bye ?” 

We had been talking of you and your family, 
and I inadvertently alluded to its religion and 
politics.” 

“ Was he angry at my religion?’’ 


Saras Lover. 


95 


“ At your concealment of it he was angry.” 

“ I am afraid you have made me a great sor- 
row, Maclane.” 

“ There is always sorrow in deception, Donald. 
At the first, you ought to have made all clear. 
When you sit day after day on a man’s hearth- 
stone and win his daughter, he has a right to 
know exactly what and who you are. Why did 
you not tell him ? The night that he saved you 
from the sea and asked you to his home was 
your fortunate hour. If then he had continued 
his courtesy, he could not have blamed you ; if, 
on the contrary, he had made 3^ou understand 
then that your faith and family were insuperable 
objections to friendship, you, at that time, could 
have easily resigned yourself to a disappoint- 
ment about Roberta Balfour.” 

No ; I could not. In the very first hour of 
our meeting, it would have been impossible to 
resign her. I hoped to win both father and 
daughter so entirely that my family and faith — 
both accidents of birth for which I am not 


96 


Saras Lover, 


responsible — would be accepted with me. How 
could I imagine they would be less tolerant than 
myself ?’* 

‘‘Then you know nothing of the Lowland 
Scots. They are all intense theologians. Mat- 
ters of church discipline and government are 
articles of their salvation, and there is not one of 
them who would not go to the stake for his own 
particular views on the subject. This very Mr. 
Balfour gave up one of the richest churches in 
Scotland for a quibble in the ecclesiastical court 
affecting the spiritual authority of the kirk only ; 
and, though a man of good family and profound 
scholarship, preferred an isolated parish among 
illiterate peasants, with his principles, to a 
wealthy, cultivated one, with some one’s else- 
principles.” 

“ But what have theology and church govern- 
ment to do with my love for Roberta ?” 

“You will find that they have a great deal to 
do with it. You will have to give up Roberta 
Balfour, I am sure.” 


Saras Lover» 


97 


“ Never. She may give me up. I shall never, 
never resign her.’* 

I cannot understand why a young man so 
candid as you are, did not at the first tell Mr. 
Balfour your real social standing. It was 
scarcely honorable. He has a right to feel hurt 
at you.” 

“ No ; you cannot understand a lover’s fears 
and doubts and hesitations ; his desire to let well 
alone ; his dread of explanations ; his preference 
for a delicious uncertainty, not devoid of hope, 
to a positive position, which might be one of 
despair. Nor can you understand, perhaps, 
that I might wish to woo and win Roberta as a 
simple gentleman. Women are very much 
influenced by position and by title; I wanted 
Roberta to accept Donald Torquil ; when she 
had done so, I intended to tell her what 
social advantages I could give her with my 
name.” 

You reasoned like a romantic, inexperienced 


young man. 


98 


Sara's Lover, 


“ It takes a lover to understand a lover,” said 
Donald, and he spoke with some irritation. 

Maclane looked at him kindly, and for a 
moment there was a shadow of uncertainty in 
his manner ; then he said : 

‘‘Come into the cabin, Donald; I want to 
tell you something; and the swash of the sea, 
and the wind blowing the waves, make talking 
difficult. Now we are more comfortable. You 
say it takes a lover to understand a lover — well, 
then, I am far more deeply in love than you are. 
A boy of twenty-two can only love like a boy of 
twenty-two ; a man of forty loves with a 
strength and passion that only a matured soul 
can nourish.” 

“ I might have known it. Who could see 
Roberta and not — ” 

“It is not Roberta; be easy, quite easy, on 
that ground. I shall never be your rival. It is 
Miss Torquil that I love. All other women 
seem to me plain and colorless beside her.” 

“ Sara?” 


Sara's Lover, 


99 


“Yes, she is the one woman I have ever 
desired. When you have exhausted words in 
describing Roberta Balfour, I would not have 
found a sentence worthy of your sister. In my 
case, also, it was a love born perfect. The first 
moment I saw Miss Torquil, I was as much 
enthralled as I am at this hour ; because I loved 
her then with every capacity of my nature. 
Now, I did at once what you ought to have 
done. I asked on the second day of my visit 
for an interview with Sir Rolfe. I said to him : 
* Sir, I love Miss Torquil. I can never love her 
more or love her less than I do now. I desire 
to marry her. I can give her such and such 
advantages. I will settle upon her absolutely 
such and such money and property.’ ” 

“And what did my father say?” 

“ He answered : ‘ Mr. Maclane, I am obliged 

by your confidence. I shall be glad to give you 
my daughter if she is willing to be your wife.’ 
I asked then that he would respect my con- 


TOO 


Sarahs Lover. 


fession. I had your sister to woo, but the way 
to her favor was so far clear.” 

And I hope, with all my heart, that you will 
win Sara.” 

“ I am not easily discouraged, Donald. There 
are nicks in time which a man has only to be 
on the watch for, and success is in them. I am 
not fanciful and unreasonable. I do not expect 
Miss Torquil to love me after a Byronic or Tom 
Moore-ish fashion. If I can gain her respect 
and friendship, I shall feel that I have a noble 
foundation laid, and I can trust her for her love. 
A good woman is a generous and a grateful 
woman ; she will give love for love, if only she 
be sure of her husband’s pure and perfect 
devotion to her. That is my theory. I can 
trust it.” 

Involuntarily the young man put out his hand, 
and the elder’s closed upon it. Maclane’s face 
was calm and happy ; Donald’s eyes were shin- 
ing through tears ; the youth had not yet 
learned to control his emotions, but his com- 


Saras Lover, 


lOI 


panion trusted and respected them. He under- 
stood that this excess of feeling in youth made a 
tolerant middle-age and a mellow old one. 

“ What would you advise me to do, 
Maclane ?” 

See Mr. Balfour as soon as you can. You 
may not succeed in persuading or even in paci- 
fying him, but it is right for you to try. Frankly, 
I do not think you will succeed.’* 

Then, what ?” 

Can you give up the girl ?” 

“ If I give up life — not unless.” 

“ There is no such question, Donald. Life is 
not yours to give up. Let us avoid hyperboles. 
Does Roberta love you?” 

Yes — as I love her.” 

“Then you cannot give her up. You must 
wait. Everything comes to those who can 
wait.” 

“ Would you tell Sir Rolfe ?” 

“ There seems to be no necessity to trouble 
him with an affair so very uncertain. It should 


102 


Sara's Lover. 


be your object to get closer to your father, not 
to put another disagreement between you ; and 
he would certainly regard a marriage between 
you and Roberta Balfour as a very great 
trial.” 

This conversation, varied and extended in all 
its points, filled with unceasing interest the 
hours of their sail home. Near Erbusaig they 
were delayed by mist and squalls coming up 
through Raasay Sound, and the Sea Bird had to 
stagger along under double reef until Torquil 
Harbor was across her bow. Then a long tack 
had to be made, so that it was the middle of the 
morning when they cast anchor. 

It is my last sail for some months,” said 
Maclane. “To-morrow I must go back to busi- 
ness. But I have had a memorable holiday, 
Donald, though quite a different one from what 
1 anticipated.” 

“You have taken the ocean instead of the 
hills as a restorer.” 

“ You must remember I am an inland man, 


Saras Lover. 


103 


and when I needed recreation, the mountains 
were the most natural suggestions. But as soon 
as I saw the sea I knew what I wanted. I must 
buy a boat of my own, Donald, then we can 
have some* fine racing. I will write to some 
good builder about one as soon as I get home.’' 

Better by far have it built in Ross. They 
know the kind of boat for these seas. The Sea 
Bird will keep right side up when a fine fancy 
yacht will be running wild and going bottom up 
over her crew. Have a Ross boat for Ross 
seas ; in a storm she’ll edge away to windward 
under a bit of canvas, and bring you safe into 
harbor. Angus Mackenzie and his father built 
the Sea Bird^ and we launched her to a flowing 
tide, with her prow foremost. It was Sara who 
sent her off in the old Gael fashion. She would 
send yours off, too, I am sure, and then she 
would take luck with her.” 

Maclane smiled. I should like to see her do 
it ; I would believe in that luck.” 

I never saw Sara so beautiful as she was on 


104 


Saras Lover, 


that morning when we launched the Sea Bird, 
There was a good breeze of wind, and it flut- 
tered her dress and scarf, and she looked so tall 
and splendid, that I could not help thinking of 
those old Norse sea-queens that we read so 
much about in the sagas — especially when she 
stood far out at the bow, and chanted the launch 
charm : 

“ * From rocks and sands^ 

And barren lands, 

And ill men's hands. 

Keep free. 

Well in, well out. 

With a good shout !' 

And then the wine was spilt and the men 
cried, * Off !’ and off she went, dancing and cour- 
tesying like a lady.’' 

“ Very pleasant ; we will have another launch, 
and Miss Torquil, I hope, will be sea-priestess 
again, Donald?” 

‘‘ I hope so.” The words were said upon the 
door-step, as Fergus set it wide open for their 
entrance. He looked at both Maclane and 


Sara's Lover, 


105 


Donald with disapprobation. He understood 
that Maclane had come to Torquil to shoot; he 
regarded shooting as the recreation for gentle- 
men. “Strafaging about the Minch in a small 
poat wass not respectable whateffer;” and he 
felt hurt at Donald lowering the tone of their 
visitors by decoying any one from the hills to 
the salt-water. 

“ Sir Rolfe hass peen seeking you, Maistir 
Tonalf, and he wass saying, he will pe to seek 
you, anywhere at all, between Torquil and 
Stornoway. Ou, ay, people that will be know- 
ing, Maistir Tonalt, say, it iss always the same 
port the Sea Bird goes for ; they are saying that 
Avhateffer. North, ay, north ; I’m seeing that 
fine mysel’.” 

“ I hope you have not said so to Sir Rolfe, 
Fergus. You promised never to look which 
way I went.” 

‘‘A man iss not carin’ to shut his eyes too 
often, Maistir Tonalt, and Father Contach him- 
self asking me the way. It’s no for the like of 


io6 


Sara's Lover, 


me to be telling a real goot man like Father 
Contach what iss not the truth. He wass at the 
castle last night, and he wass shaking hands with 
me, and he wass saying : ‘ So Maistir Tonalt is 
on the sea again, and which way iss it he will be 
taking whateffer, Fergus ?’ ” 

“ And you told him ?” 

I did not tell him, but I will haf to tell him 
of the lie whateffer at my next confession , and it 
iss many a time I haf gone round my beads for 
you alreadty, Maistir Tonalt.” 

Don’t be cross, Fergus. What did the Father 
say 1 Or rather, what did you say to him ?” 

“ 1 saidt ; ‘ You will haf to ask himself. Father. 
They were telling me he wass going north, and 
they were telling me he wass going south, and 
some, mirover, were saying it wass to Rona 
whateffer the Sea Bird flew — but 1 was not 
knowing myself.’ That is what I saidt, and the 
father looket sharp at me, and he saidt : ' That 
iss no way to speak, Fergus. If you will pe say- 
ing your prayers to-night — and surely you will 


Sarahs Lover. 


107 


pe saying ^them — maybe, to-morrow, you will 
pe knowing if it pe to the north or south or west 
the Sea Bird goes. And so, maybe, if you will 
pe saying your own prayers, Maistir Tonalt, you 
will not pe wanting an old man, who hass ferry 
little time left for praying, to pe telling the lie 
for you.” 

At that hour, life seemed a very dull, hopeless 
affair to Donald. Mr. Balfour’s anger. Father 
Matthew’s suspicions, and the ill-temper of Fer- 
gus, being all knots in the same tangled skein of 
circumstances. He did not even feel as if Mac- 
lane’s sympathy had been all he might have 
expected from him, and he began to change his 
clothing with an utter weariness of the condi- 
tions of his life. For youth is the time when 
these pallid despairs have their greatest power. 
Men in mid life know that there are few troubles 
that are really as bad as they appear to be ; and 
old men feel that their journey is nearly over, 
and that no contradiction of sorrow can hurt 
them very long. So, it is youth that dashes its 


io8 


Saras Lover. 


head against the insurmountable wall of circum- 
stances ; when years bring wisdom, the same 
man will recognize that the wall is the absolute, 
and he will make a friend of it and walk under 
its shelter. 

The twenty years’ difference in the ages of 
Maclane and Donald put between them just this 
difference in their way of looking at life. Mac- 
lane was as far sympathetic as it was possible for 
him to be. He remembered, also, his own 
youthful extravagances of emotion, and watched 
Donald under the same excesses with a senti- 
ment in which disapproval and envy were curi- 
ously mixed. Loving, perhaps, quite as passion- 
ately as Donald, he was still able to restrain 
impetuosities which might injure his pretensions, 
and to affect that wise and calm devotion which 
was more suitable to his years. 

Yet never a lover’s heart beat more warmly 
and tenderly than his when he perceived that 
fortune had given him the opportunity he had 
been watching for. He had made his usual 


Sara's Lover, 


109 

most fastidious toilet and enjoyed the late break- 
fast which Fergus had served him, and then, hav- 
ing lit his cigar, was about to take a walk in the 
court, when Miss Torquil, glowing with health 
and beauty, returned from her ride. 

“ I have left Lord Lenox on the moor,” she 
said, gayly. “ A wing of plover, followed by a 
pack of grouse, were too much for him — or 
rather, too much for me, for he left me to pur- 
sue them.” 

“ How could he be so insensible ?” 

He expected to be insensible. He took his 
gun with him — at least he sent a gilly with it to 
the Black Cairn. When the two men met, 1 had 
not a chance, I assure you. You should have 
seen their faces ; I feel sure that Lord Lenox 
was very glad to leave me to the care of my 
groom.” 

Maclane lifted her from the saddle, followed 
her into the breakfast-parlor, and procured her 
a cup of coffee. She sat down before the fire 
to drink it ; and, very soon, they fell into an 


1 lO 


Sara's Lover. 


eas}^ conversation about Donald and their recent 
sail, and Mr. Maclane’s near departure. At first 
it was animated and continuous, but gradually 
Maclane’s intense feeling became only half- 
veiled, his questions were absently asked, his 
answers as absently made. Little intervals 
of silence fell between them. Sara began to be 
aware of an atmosphere strange and full of fate ; 
she was anxious to escape from it, and struggling 
against her sensibility to it, when Maclane 
spoke : 

“ Miss Torquil, I am going away, as you know, 
to-morrow, but 1 shall leave all the sweetest and 
strongest hopes of my life with you. I am sure 
that you understand this; love, such as mine, 
must have been divined by its object.” 

I have seen that you think very highly of 
me. To deny it would be affectation.” 

I love you. I can say no stronger words, if 
you believe them. I know that I am twenty 
years older than you are ; but, sincerely, I do not 
think mere youth is the advantage people affect 


Sara's Lover. 


1 1 1 


to consider it in a lover. Your great beauty 
and honorable descent deserve a high social 
position. I can give it to you. No one shall 
have a more splendid home and retinue in 
London ; and there are few country houses in all 
England to compare with Sarum Court, my resi- 
dence in Lancashire. I will settle ten thousand 
pounds upon you, to be entirely in your own 
will and pleasure. 1 will be a true, honorable 
and devoted husband to you. If my pleading 
seems mercenary, remember I must say all that 
I can for my own cause. I have not youth nor 
beauty to offer ; love, wealth, honor, high social 
position, I can give. Will you think over what 
I have said. Miss Torquil ?” 



CHAPTER VI. 

SENTENCE SUSPENDED. 

Sara had listened with glowing cheeks and 
little nervous movements of her hands, occasion- 
ally lifting her eyes to the earnest face regard- 
ing her with such tender entreaty. The honesty 
and warmth of her lover’s appeal were beyond 
doubt ; and she was far from being insensible to 
the social advantages Mr. Maclane could give 
her. Even while he was speaking, she had 
imagined herself at the head of a splendid 
London establishment, and a leader in that 
world of fashion and gayety which environs 
royalty and political power. She knew, only 
too well, the miseries of proud poverty, and the 
compelled acts of shabbiness and meanness that 
are the results of a want of ready money. 


DONALD’S FATHER IS A NOBLEMAN.”~*S'eC Pa{)e 84 





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_l_hi -_!* - «■» «: 


•-^''' ...*.*■ ’i. • n#?^ 

i-Vi ' ' ‘ - 

■i'P--- I L-1 






-*-? > ri'i: 


Sentence Suspended. 1 1 3 

Donald could have his troop ; her father could 
make Tasmer all that he dreamed of making it. 
The restoration of the old church ; the new rec- 
tory for Father Contach ; oh, so many good things 
were included in the offer she was listening to ! 

And Maclane was pleasant-looking, a gentle- 
man, clever ; with a good heart and a generous 
hand. It was not as if money was all he had to 
give her. She looked up once, almost with 
acceptance in her eyes ; but ere the feeling was 
distinct enough to reveal itself, she remembered 
the dark, handsome face of Lord Lenox. Not 
two hours previously, he had said to her : Do 

you know why I asked you to ride with me to 
the Black Cairn? Because I wish to leave my 
image in every one of your usual haunts. I 
want you to think of me wherever you are ” — 
and the words had been invested with a far 
tenderer meaning by the way in which he had 
leaned forward to catch her eyes, by the glow 
in his own eyes, and by the caressing manner in 
which he had touched her hand. 


1 14 Sentence Suspended. 

Indeed, during his whole visit, Lord Lenox 
had been hinting in a variety of ways the devo- 
tion which Maclane had expressed so plainly. 
Lenox was young, noble, fascinating ; she sup- 
posed he was wooing her as gentlemen of his 
order were accustomed to woo ; and that Mr. 
Maclane’s undisguised statements were equally 
the natural method of a man accustomed to 
business, and methodical, straightforward ar- 
rangements. 

So, when he ceased speaking, Sara Torquil 
met his eyes with a frank yet grave assent to 
the request he made : 

I will certainly think of what you have said, 
Mr. Maclane,” she answered. “ I do not love 
you ; I have never thought of marrying you : 
so much I ought to tell you.” 

“ But you do not dislike me ?” 

“ That would be impossible.” 

“ And you respect my character as tar as you 
know and understand it ?” 

“ I should do you a great injustice if I did not” 


Sentence Suspended, 


115 

“ Then I will dare to hope. I am seeking so 
great a favor that I expect to seek it with 
patient diligence, and to wait until time brings 
me the propitious hour.” 

“ But I have not promised that time will ever 
bring it. Remember that, Mr. Maclane.” 

“As long as you remain Miss Torquil, I shall 
dare to hope for and to look for it.” 

She had risen and gathered her habit over her 
arm, and as he said the words, he was walking 
with her to the door of the room. As he opened 
it, Donald entered. 

“ Oh, Sara !” he cried, hurriedly, “ I was look- 
ing for you. They told me you were riding 
with Lenox, and I was scolding you in my 
heart.” 

“ But why, Donald?” 

“ Because, whenever I want you you are rid- 
ing with Lenox.” 

“ Then, why do you not stay at home and ride 
with me ? Off to sea you go ; you play truant 
from all hospitable duties ; and not only are you 


Sentence Suspended. 


1 16 


recreant yourself, you make Mr. Maclane quite 
as bad. I only am left to entertain Lenox ; for 
father has given himself as a bond-slave to Simon 
Lovat, I think. What can I do for you ?” 

“ Nothing particularly. I wanted to look at 
you. Do you think I should go to Sir Rolfe’s 
room ? — and, oh ! Has he said anything about 
the Sea Bird ? — I mean about the usual course 
she sails ?” 

“You are as bad as a woman, Donald. You 
put your principal question as a post-query. 
Now you do not want to see me particularly, 
nor yet, father; but you do want most particu- 
larly to know if he suspects you of any love- 
affair somewhere in the neighborhood of the Gair- 
loch. I do ! I do not believe father does. At 
present, he cannot understand how a man can 
care for anything but sheep and birds and red 
deer.” 

Then I had better see him at once ?” 

“ I think you had.” 

“ What are you going to do, Maclane ?” 


Sentence Suspended, 


it; 


“ 1 thought of walking down to the village and 
talking with the Mackenzies about a boat.” 

“ I am glad of that. If you see Angus, tell 
him to come up to the castle — tell him to leave 
the fishing and every other thing, and come 
without fail.” 

To Donald’s knock. Sir Rolfe, in the half- 
conscious way of a thoroughly engrossed man, 
gave the word to enter. He was sitting at a 
table loaded with papers — old parchment deeds, 
and modern legal cap covered with figures or 
with one kind of angular, aggressive-looking 
writing. Simon Lovat sat by his side ; their 
heads were together over a large map of the 
estate ; Torquil’s fine soldierly figure contrasting 
in the most marked manner with the keen, puck- 
ered, fox-like face of Lovat, his lean, small form 
and absorbed manner. 

Good-morning, Donald;” and Sir Rolfe lifted 
from the map his long, finely-shaped white hand, 
and offered it to his son in an absent manner. 

You have been at sea again?” 


ii8 


Sentence Suspended, 


“ I took Mr. Maclane, sir. Maclane likes the 
sea ; he has just gone to order a boat for him- 
sell. As for Lord Lenox, he has the whole moor 
to range, and he does not seem to care for any 
other pleasure.” 

‘‘Well, well, make the most of your holiday. 
It will end in a few days. Then you and I have 
our work laid out for some years ; have we not, 
Lovat ?” 

“ A great work, a very great work, Mr. 
Donald.” 

“ Much greater and better, Donald, than 
idling about barracks and dawdling after royal 
parades. I know the full value of that life, I am 
sorry to say.” 

“ In all you desire I shall be glad to help you, 
sir.” 

“ By the bye, what direction were you and 
Maclane sailing ?” 

“ Northward, sir, toward Torridon.” 

“ Did you see anything of the fishers around 
Melvich? They have been molesting the Tor- 


Sentence Suspended, 


119 


quil fishers — fighting them on our own waters. 
Have you heard who this Melvich is ?” 

‘‘No, sir. He is a stranger; he bought the 
Assynt out. That is all I know of him.” 

“ Keep your eyes open when you sail north 
again. If there is more quarreling, I want you 
to witness it. The Torquils have fished the 
Ross coast for a thousand years. W e will say 
‘ by your leave ’ to no one ; more in particular 
to a man like this Melvich, whom nobody knows. 
Excuse me now, Donald. I must make the 
most of Mr. Lovat’s time. He is obliged to 
leave Tasmer to-morrow.” 

Thus dismissed, Donald found himself quite 
at leisure, and he gladly employed the next few 
hours in thinking of Roberta and in writing to 
her. Although unaware of the extent of Mr. 
Balfour’s anger, he understood from his abrupt 
relinquishment of ordinary courtesy that it was 
extreme. He was anxious to justify himself to 
Roberta and to explain to her anew the proba- 
bility of a sudden temporary cessation of his 


120 


Sentence Suspended. 


visits. The winter storms were imminent ; any 
day, the blustering winds and roaring seas of 
that rock-bound coast might be an insurmount- 
able barrier between them. 

It is always hard to defend one’s self against 
charges not definite, but only suspected. For 
his want of candor regarding his true position 
and his religion, Donald was compelled to 
blame himself, and thus in a manner excuse Mr. 
Baltour. After two hours’ writing, he was very 
much dissatisfied with the presentation he had 
made of his own case ; indeed, he felt that the 
best thing he could do was to throw himself 
upon Roberta’s love and forgiveness. But 
although his letter was far from pleasing him, 
he gave it to Angus with many verbal additions 
and directions, in case he should be so fortunate 
as to see Roberta. 

They had gone into the firs to talk over the 
matter, for it was only at this hour Donald 
made Angus a confidant. Certainly he had 
understood why the Sea Bird always set her sail 


Sentence Suspended, 


1^1 


for Ellerloch, and both he and the two boys had 
frequently seen Roberta Balfour ; but their 
devotion and respect were so entire that Donald 
had fully trusted to them. Until he chose to 
speak, he knew they would all be blind and deaf 
and dumb ; explanation was now, however, 
imperative, and Donald made it Ircely, taking 
his humble friend completely into his hopes and 
fears. 

“ And you will be one with me, I know, 
Angus,” he concluded ; “ for she is a noble girl, 
and she loves me, and you have seen, also, how 
beautiful she is.” 

I haf seen her, and I haf not seen her, 
Maistir Tonalt,” Angus answered, with modest 
courtesy ; “ ’twas not for the like of me to be 
lifting my eyes whateffer to the laaty yourself 
waas thinking apout. She iss a ferry fine laaty, 
and I waas hearing, mirover, that she can man- 
age a poat as well as she can manage her father’s 
house. Yes, I haf heardt that. It iss a great 


122 


Sentence Suspended, 


thing for a young laaty to manage a poat. 
Inteet it is, praise God !” 

“You must try and give this letter into her 
own hand, Angus — even if you wait a little to 
do so. And you will mind every word she says 
— and every word the minister says — ” 

“ I will care nothing, I will care nothing at all 
for what the minister will be saying. He iss 
not of the Ross men. He iss a stranger, and he 
iss a Protestant mirover, and he is a ferry stern 
man with his sermons and his reproofs, where 
there is no needt whateffer. They’re saying 
that ; yes, they are saying that of the minister ; 
and he iss a Protestant mirover.” 

“His daughter is a Protestant also, Angus. 
There may be good Protestants, you know.” 

“ Ou, ay ; it iss not the young laaty ’s fault — no 
inteet ! It waas her father wouldt be teaching 
her from the cradle ; and they are saying her 
father is a great scholar, and so he wouldt be 
knowing what iss the right way, if he wouldt be 
walking in it. ’Tis his fault ; you will pe saying 


Sentence Suspended, 


123 


yourself ’tis his fault, sir. And when you are 
marrit on Miss Balfour, it iss a goot Catholic 
Father Contach will be makin’ of the laaty, 
praise God ; for it is an awful thing for people 
to be marrit together when they are not both 
goot Catholics ; and iss it not, sir ?” 

“ I do not know, Angus,’’ and Donald looked 
very blankly in his counselor’s face. 

During this conversation they had passed to 
the outskirts of the firs, and were standing 
together facing the sea. 

“ It is very rough, Angus. I do not think you 
can manage a boat on such a sea,” said Donald. 

“ The windt is fair, and I will not be carin’ 
for the sea.” 

You will try and give the letter into Miss 
Balfour’s own hands ?” 

“ Yes, I will give it into her own hands ; and I 
will see aal and 1 will hear aal, and I will say 
nothing to anger the minister ; and the tefil him- 
self cannot be finding fault with a dumb man. I 
will be going ; even now 1 will be going.” 


124 


Sentence Suspended, 


I shall be miserable until you get back, 
Angus.” 

“ There is no needt, there is no needt what- 
effer. If you will pe lookin’ for goot, then goot 
will pe cornin’ to you. Yes, inteet, praise 
God !” 




CHAPTER VIL 

A LOVE-LETTER. 

“ Love’s reason’s without reason.” 

“ Let determined things to destiny 
Hold unbewail’d their way.” 

“ A woman’s thought runs before her actions.” 

“ Spirits are not finely 
Touched but to fine issues.” 

All at once, the usually delayed winter settled 
down upon the desolate land and sea. Scarcely 
a week had passed since Donald sent Angus to 
Ellerloch, and Tasmer had almost the air of 
some enchanted castle, so lonely and silent — so 
shut off from the world of thought and action 
was it. Mr. Maclane and Lord Lenox, with 


126 


A Love-Letter, 


their servants, and also the additional servants 
their presence made necessary at Tasmer, were 
all gone. The halls were silent, and many of 
the rooms closed, for Sir Rolfe had resolutely 
cut down the regular expenses to the barest 
demands of anything like a comfortable life. 

To Sara he had excused his economy on the 
ground of her own anticipated visit to her aunt. 
Lady Moidart. 

The expenses of a short season in London 
will be very great,” he said ; “ for if you go with 
Lady Moidart you must have everything requis- 
ite for your position. I desire you to be inde- 
pendent of all favors from the Moidart family, 
whom I always disliked.” 

“ Lady Moidart is my mother’s sister, father.” 

‘‘ True ; and equally true, that she was never 
tired of reproaching your mother for marrying 
a poor soldier with a shadowy baronetcy. But 
you must see London life, and she is the natural 
and proper person to introduce you to it.” 

If economy were necessary for this purpose, 


A Love-Letter, 


127 


Sara was willing to be economical. She had 
the natural desire of a young and beautiful 
woman, for society, and she wished to see if 
society were indeed the fascinating thing she 
had imagined it, from such remarks as had 
fallen from their late visitors. Also, she was 
anxious to see Lord Lenox again. Although he 
had made her no distinct profession of love, he 
had told her in a way no woman ever misinter- 
prets, that she was beautiful in his eyes, and 
dear to his heart. She could not forget, espe- 
cially, how tenderly he had held her hand at 
parting, and how his dark eyes had sought in 
her eyes some answering sign of her affection. 
At that time there had been no word spoken 
regarding her visit with Lady Moidart to 
London — the invitation having arrived after his 
departure — and she pleased herself with a 
thousand fancies of their meeting in society, and 
of Lenox’s proud and happy surprise. 

She was even glad that he did not know 
she was so soon to make a part of his own 


128 


A Love-Letter. 


world. She thought, with smiles, of meeting 
him suddenly in some triumph of the ball- 
room; or when riding in the Row; or in her 
box at the opera. She arranged the meeting to 
suit her own desires, in every possible way, and 
under every conceivable circumstance, and she 
was happier in such dreaming than in any of the 
actual events of life around her. 

It is true, none of them were very exciting. 
The household had been reduced to a couple of 
women in the kitchen, a chambermaid and a 
laundress ; Fergus, as usual, acting as steward 
and attending to the table. Tasmer was 
environed by great white moors and a black 
tossing ocean. Visiting was impossible, and to 
keep warm and pass the time as comfortably as 
might be, seemed the only visible object of life. 
Donald was moody and restless and inclined to 
solitude. He told Sara he was anxious about 
his future, which was a true enough statement, 
though Sara thought of it in one way, and 
Donald in another. She imagined his anxiety 


A Love-Letter, 


129 


referred to the plans which Sir Rolfe was per- 
fecting in the seclusion of his own room, and 
which Donald was expected to assist in carry- 
ing out. Donald knew that his main care 
referred to the success of the mission on which 
he had sent Angus Mackenzie. 

Angus had been nearly a week away, and 
every day had been a separate week to Donald. 
He was angry at the wind and the waves and 
the black sky ; he felt as if nature herself were 
hostile to him. Sometimes he was angry at 
Angus, and the unreason of his anger made it no 
easier to control. On the afternoon of the sixth 
day, however, he saw the returning boat, and he 
went down to the village to meet it. It was 
hard lor the sturdy little craft to make the 
harbor, for the wind was about southeast, and a 
good blow of it. But Angus kept her broad, 
square stern at right angles to the traveling 
wave, and fighting his way slowly, lunged 
forward into smooth water. But it was a nasty 
day ; a waste of gray below, and a waste of 


A Love-Letter, 


130 

gray above, and a thick smurr of rain between. 
“ A little shoory,” as Angus said, throwing off 
his oil-skins, and turning his kind, handsome 
face to Donald, who was sitting on Helen 
Mackenzie’s hearth-stone. She was hurrying 
forward a cup of tea and a bannock and herring 
for her hungry, wet son ; but she understood 
that there were “ whisht words ” between the 
young men, and as soon as the meal was ready, 
she took her knitting and went into a neighbor’s 
cottage. 

Then Donald said: ‘'You have had a hard 
time, I fear, Angus.” 

“I haf had a hard time, sir. The windt wass 
never steady ; it wass sweeping the sea in heavy 
squalls, with but ferry little rest between them ; 
the poat herself wass glat when we got under 
the landt. There was a man wrapped up in oil- 
skins on the pier, and he said to me : ‘You was 
hafing a hardt fight whateffer, and I was waiting 
here to see if you would be wanting help ; and 
where will you be coming from in such 


A Love-Letter, 


131 

weather?’ he says, ferry kindly. Then I saw it 
wass the minister, and he wass knowing me also, 
and when he was speaking again it wass not so 
kindt. ‘ And what are you coming here for, 
Angus Mackenzie?’ he asked me. I saidt: 
‘ There is no shame in my coming here whateffer, 
Maistir Balfour. I haf brought a letter from the 
young Laird of Torquil to your daughter, sir.’ 
' And iss that it ?’ he asked. ‘ Then come with 
me. And were you seeing anything of Mr. 
Maclane since a few days?’ Ferry sifil he wass, 
and I said I wass not seeing nothing apout him 
for a week, nor more than that ; and I wass hear- 
ing he hadt gone back to the south whateffer ; 
and he saidt no more till we were in the house, 
and it was in my oil-skins he took me into the 
parlor.” 

“ Then you saw Miss Balfour ?” 

“ She was sitting in the parlor, and she wass 
sewing her white seam, mirover, and when the 
minister saidt : ‘ Here is Angus Mackenzie with 
a letter from young Torquil,’ she lifted her head 


132 


A Love-Letter, 


as quick as a flash of lightning. And I took the 
letter from mj pocket, and wass going to gif it 
to her, but the minister, he stept. forward more 
quick than I can tell you, and he took the letter 
from me and he put it in the blazing fire ; and he 
stoodt before the fire and he lookedtat Miss Bal- 
four with his lips tight shut and his face as white 
as a mortal Corpse.” 

Oh, Angus ! Angus !” 

And it wass not my fault ; no, it wass not my 
fault.” 

“ What did Miss Balfour say ?” 

She let her work fall down, and she stoodt 
up with her face blazing, and she wass in a 
tremple all ofer ; and it wass almost in a whisper 
she saidt : ‘ Father ! How cruel, how wicket 
that iss !’ Ferry angry he spoke up : ‘It iss kindt, 
it iss goot, it iss right, what I haf done, and I 
haf done it pefore your eyes. 1 might have got 
the letter from the man, and nefer told you that 
a letter came ; but 1 will be honest with you, and 
I will show you and him, too, that I will not haf 


A Love-Letter, 


133 


you — no, nor myself — readt any letter that Ton- 
alt Torquil writes. Now, Angus Mackenzie, you 
go to the kitchen and they will gif you meat and 
trink.’ 

And did Miss Balfour manage to see you in 
the kitchen?” 

“ It wass not in his house, sir, I wass going to 
stay, after the insult ; and ferry quick I wass 
telling him that. * I will not set in your house 
whateffer sir, nor take a trink of coldt water in 
it. No, inteet ! for I am the Torquil’s poor 
cousin, and his insult iss my insult; and it iss 
your white hairs and your plack coat will be 
safin’ you this morning.’ And what else couldt 
I pe saying? There was nothing else. You 
will be knowing that fine yourself, sir.” 

Oh, Angus, I wanted a word from her ! I 
wanted a word so much !” 

“ Wass you thinking, sir, I would t be coming 
with no word in my mouth or in my hand ? No, 
inteet! Praise God, Angus Mackenzie can 
make a new way, if the olt way will not pe a goot 


134 


A Love-Letter, 


way and with a beaming face he took from 
his pocket the desired letter. 

Donald was too happy to speak. The white 
message in his open hand thrilled him with 
delight. He anticipated the happy hour when 
he should be able to read it, and there was even 
a kind of luxury in postponing the joy until soli- 
tude could give it the last and sweetest charm. 
And for the present he held it fast in his hand 
and saw his own name in the free, clear writing 
he knew so well. It was in pencil, however, and 
as he looked at it he perceived that it was 
unsealed. Angus saw the flitting shadow of 
surprise on Donald’s face, and he answered it : 

She wass saying some ferry pretty wordts 
about the seal: ‘Tell Angus Mackenzie I haf 
no wax, but it will pe sealed safe with his honor.’ 
And you will be knowing, sir, that them are the 
true wordts whateffer?” 

“True as truth, Angus. Wax might be 
broken ; your honor is beyond doubt. But how 
did you get the letter ?” 


A Love-Letter . 


135 


“ A man is not carin’ to be treated thon way. 
I wass mat at the minister, and I thought, as I 
left his house at my pack, there will pe a Mac- 
kenzie somewhere in the village ; for, praise 
God, the Mackenzies are all ofer Ross whateffer ; 
and the ferry first cottage I came to wass Rose 
Mackenzie’s ; and she was glat to see me. What 
for no, when I came from Torquil, and she wass 
porn and pred in the place whateffer ? And I 
wass welcome on her hearth, and she gave me 
pread and a cup of tea, and I toldt her how the 
young Torquil hadt peen insulted py the strange 
man from the south, and she wass mat, too, and 
she saidt : ^ I will pe taking the stockings I haf 

peen knitting, to the minister, and I will pe see- 
ing Miss Balfour, and if you haf a wordt to send 
her, it will pe going safe and secret in my mouth.* 
So I toldt her to tell the young laaty that ‘ my 
poat wouldt leafe that day, and yet it wouldt not 
leafe that day. I was going down the coast for 
eight miles to Locherrol, and there I wouldt 
leafe the boat and walk pack to Rose Mac- 


136 


A Love-Letter, 


kenzie’s for the letter, if she wouldt pe hafing one 
for me to carry to the Torquil/ That wass the 
way I got the letter. It wass by Rose she sent 
it, also the pretty wordts apout my honor ; and 
I will nefer pe forgetting them, nefer.” 

What do you think of Mr. Balfour, Angus? 
If I go and see him, will he listen to me ?” 

“ They are saying he is a shentleman, and so 
he will listen to you, if you will pe speaking to 
him ; put he will not pe doing anything you 
will pe asking him. Oh, Tis sure as the tide 
flowing ! He will not pe doing anything at all. 
And he will not pe trusting his daughter, for 
it wass neither pen nor ink she couldt findt in 
the house, and the wax was in his own pocket; 
but, praise God, he had not mindt of the laaty’s 
drawing-pencils, and the pencils and the honor 
of Angus Mackenzie wass enough. They are 
saying that he iss a ferry goot man, and a ferry 
powerful preacher, whateffer, and he has written 
some goot pooks; but he will standt between 


A Love-Letter, 


137 


you and his daughter till the day nefer — come 
— nefer — that iss what I am thinking." 

Donald would have gladly prolonged the con- 
versation ; he was ready to ask over and over 
how Roberta looked, what she wore, and what 
she was doing. As to the few words she spoke, 
he made Angus repeat them many times. But 
Angus was very tired. He had had but little 
sleep for a week, and the comfort of the fire 
and the sense of being at last off watch, was too 
much for the exhausted youth. He was soon 
fast asleep, and Donald, with the precious letter 
in his possession, not unwillingly left him to his 
much needed rest. 

In some respects, Roberta’s letter was every- 
thing a lover could desire, in others, it troubled 
him greatly ; for she did not fear to face cir- 
cunastances which he had persistently put away 
from his consciousness. Frankly confessing her 
love, solemnly declaring that she would marry 
no man but him, she yet pointed out how 
unlikely any marriage between them was. 


138 


A Love-Letter, 


“ My father is not more determined to separate us than 
your father will be, so soon as he knows of our affection. 
Dearest Donald, love cannot be good if it makes sorrow and 
sin ; for love is meant in some way to make us better, not 
worse. Oh, yes, it is meant to make us better, even if it be 
by the sad discipline of self-denial. My duty to my father 
is an old and a dear duty. He has been father and mother 
both to me, and I love him as he loves me. When he seems 
to be unkind or despotic, I know that he punishes himself 
more than he punishes me. This is a matter of conscience 
with him, and I am sure that he will never change. To 
spare my life, or his own life, he will not take back one word 
of his decision. I feel sure Sir Rolfe Torquil will be equally 
stubborn. What hope for us remains then } If you aban- 
doned your faith, I should despise you. I should say, if 
Donald is recreant to his religion, how can I trust his affec- 
tion ? It is quite certain that I shall stand firm in the faith 
which I have been baptized in. One day, perhaps, you may 
be your own master, and I be left without any one to control 
my actions ; but dare we think of such a possibility 1 We 
should be wicked indeed, if we did not tremble to enter the 
gates which death set wide for love.” 

Much more in the same tenor Roberta wrote ; 
mingling the bitter words with sweet ones, and 
yet firmly refusing to encourage hopes which 
could lead to nothing but misery. “ Such love 
is mockery,” said Donald ; “ why should we be 


The Love-Letter. 


139 


permitted to meet, only that we may love and 
suffer? It is an irony of fate.” And then, with 
strange, sweet, sorrowful power, Roberta’s 
words stole through his memory, and frightened 
him : “ Love is meant to make us better, even 

if it be by the sad discipline of self-denial.” 

As he was musing on this subject, a servant 
brought a message from his sister. They were 
to dine alone, she said, and she had ordered the 
meal to be served in her own parlor ; and would 
Mr. Donald please not to keep the fish waiting? 

Sara was in unusual spirits. Two or three 
things had happened which pleased her ; and 
she was desirous to talk about them. Donald 
was generally her confidant ; she was almost 
glad when Sir Rolfe decided to eat his dinner in 
his own room. There was something delightful 
in discussing pleasant events over a nice dinner, 
and she reflected that Donald was always appre- 
ciative of fine fish and perfectly cooked grouse, 
and delicate dessert. Few men are not so, even 
under depressing love-affairs, and the young 


140 


The Love-Letter. 


man’s face brightened at the sight of the cheerily 
lit room, the elegant table and the beautiful girl 
who welcomed him. 

The pleasant meal over, Donald and Sara 
turned their chairs to the fireside. 

I have had two very agreeable things hap- 
pen to me this afternoon, Donald ; father gave 
me the key of mother’s laces — grandmother’s 
will go to your wife, he says — these are some 
ol them and she lifted some flounces from a 
work-basket at her side. “ I was darning them a 
little ; are they not lovely T 

“ They look very yellow.” 

“ Barbarian 1 That is part of their loveliness. 
Look at this pattern. It is the crown and lilies, 
and was lost at the French Revolution. I assure 
you it is priceless. I am to have her jewelry, 
also, when I go to London. I wonder if it is 
handsome?’^ 

For a moment, Donald’s thoughts went back 
to the mother he could just remember. He had 
one or two sacred memories of her which he 


The Love-Letter, 


141 

never named, but jewels did not make any part 
of them. 

‘‘ I never saw mother in jewels,’' he said. 

She seemed always to wear a white dress, and 
to be lying on a sofa. Poor mother ! She was 
so young to die, 1 think father must have missed 
her very much. Why has he not come down- 
stairs to dinner ?” 

** He is not very well ; but he was good to me 
about my London visit this morning. I am to 
have five hundred pounds, and more if 1 require 
it. I understand, though, Donald, that he 
intends this to be my first and last season. I am 
to have my chance, dear, and I am expected to 
make the most of it — to marry, and to marry 
well, Donald.” 

“ When are you going?” 

“ I had a letter from Aunt Moidart this morn- 
ing. She thinks I had better come to her as 
soon as possible. In another month, the roads 
will be blocked with snow or else be roaring 
torrents.” 


142 


The Love-Letter , 


“ Not quite as bad as that. I shall miss you, 
Sara.” 

“ I hope you will, dear. However, father 
intends to keep you very busy. There has been 
a large correspondence opened, and you are to 
attend to it. I heard Lovat and father saying 
that.” 

“ Is Lovat coming back soon ?” 

“ No ; he has Lord Lenox’s affairs to attend to 
now.” 

“ Why does he trouble himself about so many 
sick estates ? I should be afraid of the man. 
No doubt he has his own interests to attend to, 
also.” 

‘‘ I think you are mistaken. Simon Lovat is a 
character. He takes his proper fee, of course ; 
but he really finds the keenest pleasure in turn- 
ing poor estates into rich ones. He loves 
money because it is money. He loves to see it 
increase. He expects a piece of land as big as 
my pocket-handkerchief to do its duty and add 
to the rent-roll. Father says Lovat cannot hear 


A Love-Letter, 


H3 

a large sum of money mentioned without having 
a palpitation of his heart. When he counts 
gold or notes, his face flushes like a girl’s. 1 
suppose he has the same pleasure in bringing 
riches out of poverty as a doctor has in a 
desperate case, or a soldier in a forlorn hope.” 

“ It is the love of chase in us, Sara. All men 
have the passion in some form or other. Even 
in our high civilization we are constantly exhib- 
iting the stealthy or cruel instincts of ancestors, 
who were, both as regards men and animals, 
‘ mighty hunters before the Lord’— or the 
devil.” 

“We are wandering from our subject, which 
was London. I suppose this season may decide 
my fate, Donald.” 

“ Don’t be in a hurry, Sara. Girls are so apt 
to take their first offer, and it is very often a bad 
one.” 

“Do you think so? I have had my first offer, 
Donald— and refused it • at least, I suppose it 
was a refusal.” 


44 


A Love-Letter, 


“ Oh ! It was Lenox, I dare say. I am e^lad 
you refused him. I always thought him mean 
enough, and he is simply devoted to himself.” 

‘‘You are mistaken — every way. It was Mr. 
Maclane who honored me.” 

“ Indeed, then, it was an honor. Surely you 
did not refuse him?” And Donald, having 
mind of his friend’s confidence in him, listened 
anxiously for her answer. 

“I do not love him. What is love? Were 
you ever in love, Donald ? Do poets and novel- 
ists tell the truth about it ? If so, I am not in 
love with Mr. Maclane, and I told him so.” 

“ Did that settle the matter?” 

“ No. He said he would be satisfied with my 
respect and friendship. He thought respect 
and friendship a safe foundation for marriage. 
Do you, Donald?” 

“It might be — only, Sara, if — if, after marriage, 
you should meet the one you could love, you 
would feel as if you had turned the key on 


A Love-Letter, 


145 


your own happiness and you must stand outside 
of it forever. That would be dreadful." 

At this moment Father Matthew Contach 
entered the room. 

“ My children," he said, “ can I sit beside you 
for a little while ?" 

They made room for him joyfully ; but it was 
not many minutes ere Sara saw that he was 
troubled, and she said : 

Something has grieved you, dear Father ?" 

“There is trouble in the village, Sara. I 
came up to see Sir Rolfe about it ; came 
through the rain, hoping to spare some hearts 
an anxiety ; but Sir Rolfe will say nothing on 
the subject to me. He is not ready to speak 
yet, he says, and surely he is not bound to do so 
until he is fully persuaded in his own mind ; 
but when the heart is sad hours are so long. I 
thought to end suspense, that was all. Well, 
Sara, and so you are going to London ?" 

Then he put away all his depression and 
listened with interest and pleasure to all the 


146 


A Love-Letter, 


hopes of the gay, glad girl ; now and then, as 
it seemed wise and kind, reminding her of the 
duties that must not be forgotten. Indeed, his 
interest in Lady Moidart’s letters, in the season’s 
promises, in the great people and great festivals 
of the world so far removed from him, appeared 
so keen and sympathetic, that Donald felt a 
kind of sorrow in the seclusion of a man so 
learned, so splendidly manly, and yet so Christ- 
like ; and with the impulsiveness and want of 
tact common in youth he ventured a remark 
which implied this feeling. 

Father Matthew neither resented nor denied 
the supposition. He looked thoughtful for a 
few moments, and then answered : 

“I think, Donald, that all priests feel some- 
times the weight of the cross which they have 
voluntarily lifted, and which they cheerfully 
bear in the main. Christ felt His cross heavy. 
As for myself, I never regret such moments of 
weariness ; they are only momentary, and from 
them the soul triumphantly rises. 


The Love-Letter, 


147 


“ ‘ The cross is strength ; the solemn cross is gain. 
The cross is Jesu’s breast. 

Here giveth He the rest 
That to His best beloved doth still remain.’ ” 



CHAPTER VIII. 

FATHER AND SON. 

“ We sowed the seed and reap’d the grain, with thankful 
hearts and kind ; 

Our cattle grazed upon the hill that rose our homes behind ; 
And so we dwelt in peace and rest for many a changing 
year ; 

Not rich, but riches never made a home so doubly dear. 

The spirit of the olden times, that blazed so bright of 
yore. 

Had died away, and no one spoke of faith or honor more ; 
And the race that for a thousand years had dwelt within the 
glen. 

Were rudely summoned from their homes, to beg as broken 
men.” 

It was a day of extreme winter gloom and 
storm. In Tasmer there was nothing to be done 
except to submit to the tyranny of the elements, 
and to make the best of such sources of comfort 



Father and Son. 


J49 


and amusement as were to be obtained within 
the castle. Sara was in London, and Sir Rolfe 
had been for two weeks the subject of singular 
mental indecision or conflict. He had rather 
avoided than sought his son’s society ; and 
Donald noticed that the work to which he had 
been so earnestly devoted was entirely 
neglected. The papers and estimates lay upon 
a table in his room, but he did not refer to them 
in any way when they were together. 

Their companionship had not been very cheer- 
ful. The two men had no subjects of mutual, 
engrossing interest ; and each was aware of a 
certain lack of confidence in the other. As far 
as Sir Rolfe was concerned, the lack was pain- 
ful to him. He had looked forward with pleas- 
ure to the hour when he might make his son his 
coadjutor and friend. Their work had been 
laid out for these very two weeks in which he 
had felt compelled to stand still, and unable 
to solicit either the confidence or help of 
Donald. 


Father and Son. 


150 

Father Matthew was the man that troubled 
Torquil. On that wet night, when he had 
walked up to Tasmer through the storm to 
reason with him, he had said some words which 
had made Sir Rolfe very uncomfortable about 
his projects. Since then the worldly element 
and the religious element had been having a 
fierce struggle in his heart. He was not a man 
able to stand between two opinions, if the opin- 
ions were of any moment to him ; and he was 
sure that until he was quite persuaded in his 
own mind, he would never succeed in carrying 
out his wishes. 

So the papers lay upon the table, and he 
walked up and down and argued with con- 
science. He was much also in the oratory ; his 
regular religious duties did not satisfy his 
spiritual scruples ; he had imposed special obser- 
vances upon himself. But the truth was, he 
looked not for direction; he did not want to 
know what to do. He had made up his mind 
what to do, and he was vainly trying to stumble 


Father and Son. 


151 

upon something which would justify his course 
to his own heart. And he had two weeks of 
uncertainty, and of specious reasoning, ere he 
came to the moment in which he said firmly, and 
without a shadow of regret : 

“ I will do it. A man’s first duty is to those of 
his own household.” 

The decision was arrived at early in the morn. 
He had just risen from his prayers. He was in 
the clearest and calmest of mental moods. He 
was devoid of all irritations, physical and 
domestic. The resolution sprung up in a 
moment, matured, firm, certain. No pity, no 
doubt, troubled the new-born conclusion. He 
was surprised they ever should have done so. 
He wondered where such weakness had come 
from, and equally where it had gone to. Alas ! 
It is not always the angel can strive. There 
comes a moment when a man is permitted to 
take his own way. 

He walked to the table and put his hand upon 
the plan of the Tasmer estate. Never had he 


152 


Father and Son, 


opened it with such pride and affection. He 
spread it wide, and stood looking at it. Nothing 
else was required to confirm all his will. He 
was even conscious of a sudden and quite 
remarkable access of pride in his heritage, and 
of affection for the honors pertaining to so long 
a succession. The gloom of the day, the storm 
raging on the ocean below him, the wailing of 
the great winds through the firs, added a somber 
grandeur to the moment, and in some way made 
a sympathetic atmosphere of the stern realities 
of his thoughts. 

After breakfast he sent for his son ; and Donald 
knew as soon as he entered the room, that some 
decisive hour had arrived. Sir Rolfe was stand- 
ing on the hearth, and he looked as he might 
have looked when he kept the Kyber Pass with 
a handful of men around him and only two 
words in his mouth — ''No surrender^ He put 
out his fine white hand and clasped Donald’s 
hand, hard and brown with handling of oars and 
the tan of the salt sea wind. 


Father and Son, 


i53 


Good morning, Donald. I want to talk with 
you. I have come to a point in which I need 
your help. Let us sit down.'’ 

His manner was affectionate, but tinged with 
an air of authority which Donald always found 
it difficult to resist. He walked to the table, 
took from it the Tasmer map and laid it open on 
a small stand between them. Donald was well 
acquainted with the history of the family, and 
Sir Rolfe touched no longer upon it than he 
judged necessary to rouse the younger man’s 
pride and interest. But he spoke more fully and 
feelingly on the poverty of the house during 
the past four generations. 

“ If we had only been sensible and declared 
for the German house in A. D. 1745, we had 
been Earls of Ross,” he said, with some bitter- 
ness. 

“ They that were before us, father, did the 
duty of their day. You and I would have done 
the same.” 

I should never have gone with the Stuarts.” 


i54 


Father and Son. 


“ The Stuarts, however unworthily, repre- 
sented the true faith. You would have ranged 
yourself on that side, I am sure, father.” 

‘‘ Let the Stuarts pass. The family we have to 
consider is the Torquils. We are poor, and we 
ought to be rich. We have a rental of six thou- 
sand pounds, and we ought, in bare honesty to 
ourselves, to have a rental of twenty thousand 
pounds. The rental ought to increase every 
year. If we follow out Simon Lovat’s plans, we 
shall be rich in ten years. We may become a 
political power, and by a judicious selection of 
party and persons, recover our earldom. Then 
we will rebuild Eilan Donan and rule in Kintail 
as our fathers did.” 

Donald was young and enthusiastic, and his 
bright, eager face answered the steady glow of 
enthusiasm which made Sir Rolfe potent enough 
to realize all his ambition. 

“ Examine this map, Donald. Glen Mohr can 
be rented to Maclane for two thousand pounds a 
year. Torquil woods for nearly an equal sum. 


Father and Son, 


155 


All the moors and hills back of them must be 
put under §heep. Tasmer braes will alone feed 
a flock of three thousand.” 

“The people of Easter-Torquil have always 
grazed their cattle on the braes. Will your plan 
interfere with them ?” 

“ They will interfere with me ; very seriously 
interfere with me ; and I intend to resume my 
rights this year.” 

“ Have they not, also, some rights in the 
braes ?” 

“ None whatever. Each cotter rents from me 
his house, and five to ten acres of land ; he renft 
year by year. Some foolish Torquil permitted 
them to graze their cattle and sheep on the 
braes, and they have gone on doing so, until they 
take as a right what was originally a favor. I 
want the braes for my own sheep now.” 

“ I am afraid they will think your resumption 
of the land very unkind— in fact, a great wrong.” 

“ 1 am prepared for that. At the first whisper 
of my intention, they took their grievance to 


Father and Son, 


156 

Father Contach. Greatly to my surprise, he 
stands with them ; and he came up here one 
night — came through a rain-storm to make me 
very uncomfortable. Since then, I have fully 
considered the course I intend to pursue, and I 
have satisfied myself that I am doing quite 
right.” 

If they refuse to give up grazing their cattle 
on the braes ?” 

“ I shall then refuse to rent them cottages and 
crofts. They acknowledge that the grazing 
claim is contingent upon the possession of the 
cfofts and cottages which I rent them. Very 
well, then ; I shall not rent them cottages — ” 

“ But, father, they have lived in Eastern-Tor- 
quil as long as we have lived in Tasmer. They 
bear our name. They share our blood. Their 
ancestors stood by ours through many a cen- 
tury. But for their bravery, the Macdonalds 
had long ago driven us from our lands.” 

“ The Macdonalds have to mind the law now.” 

“ Ay j but the Macdonalds burned us out in 


Father and Son. 


157 


1539. It was under Donald Gorm. Then the 
bravery of these men’s ancestors won back our 
house and land.” 

“The Torquil led them, sir. They were his 
clan by inheritance, bound to follow him, bound 
to fight for him.” 

“ Nay, father, the clans were originally owners- 
in-common of the soil of their native district. 
They elected their chief. Even down to the 
days of Culloden the clans enrolled themselves 
under one or other of their feudal nobility, as 
they preferred. They always had a right in 
the land which their arms conquered and 
preserved.” 

“ You are going too far back, Donald. It is a 
far cry even to Culloden. We are talking of 
the nineteenth century.” 

“Justice is not altered by the lapse of time.” 

“ Donald, I can allow a great deal for the 
romantic notions of a young man, but I have not 
the inclination to discuss questions which affect 
us no more than what is going on in Jupiter. It 


Father and Son. 


158 

will be your business to call together the 
crofters of Torquil and Easter-Torquil, and also 
the ten families in Glen Mohr, and try and 
induce them to return peaceably the land so long 
loaned them. They must be made to under- 
stand that there is no law in Scotland to prevent 
my resuming possession of my crofts and 
cottages, and, consequently, of all grazing 
privileges.” 

“ If they refuse ?” 

‘^They must leave this part of the country. 
That is the only alternative. The whole of 
Tasmer is going under sheep, except the deer 
forests. I should prefer to have them leave. 
Indeed, I do not see what the people in Easter- 
Torquil can do else. They are not fishers, and 
without grazing-land they cannot be farmers. 
As soon as the weather permits, I wish you to 
see them. Explain the matter as kindly as pos- 
sible, but let them understand clearly nothing can 
alter my intentions. The tie between us must 


Father and Son. 


be broken, but I wish it broken as gently as 
possible.” 

“ I am sorry to disobey you, father, but there 
is absolutely nothing in life which would make 
me tell an honest, pious, hard-working Torquil 
to leave the land.” 

“ Do you think you are wiser and better than 
all the Highland gentlemen who have followed, 
or who are about to follow this course ? Tor- 
quil braes will carry three thousand black-faced 
wedders, but how can I feed my sheep if every 
cotter in Torquil puts his also on them ? Prop- 
erty has its rights, Donald.” 

Property has its duties, also, father. How 
could I go and tell Rory Mackenzie to take his 
twenty sheep off the braes ? The thing is impos- 
sible !” 

“ Well, sir, then the sheriff must do your duty. 
He may do it less kindly, but your pride and 
feelings will be spared.” 

“ Even as a matter of prudence, father — ” 

“ What do you know of prudence ? Lovat’s 


t6o 


Father and Son, 


maxim is the true one in this case — when it will 
pay a landlord to turn cultivated land into a 
sheep-run, or a deer forest, the land never ought 
to have been cultivated at all. You know well 
how much there is to do every winter for the 
cottagers. They are cold, hungry, sick, and it is 
to the Torquil they come. The situation is 
demoralizing to them, and unjust to me. It is 
high time we stepped out of the middle ages.” 

“ But there should be some preparation, 
some — ” 

“ Donald, there is nothing more tiresome than 
a man who persists in making a dead idea of 
himself.” 

“ Are justice, kindness, honesty, dead ideas ?” 

Feudal chivalry and romantic self-denial are. 
Lord Macdonald has banished the peasants of 
Sollas at sword-point. Colonel Gordon removed 
every crofter from Barra and Uist by legal pro- 
cess. Breadalbane has turned thirty thousand 
of his acres in Glenorchy into a hunting-park. 
Sutherland, Argyle and Athol are doing the 


YOU HAVE HAD A HARD TIME, I PEAR, ANGUS .”— Page 130. 









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Father and Son, 


i6i 


same thing on their estates, on a much larger 
scale. When an age grasps an idea and resolves 
to carry it out, it is ridiculous to champion one 
in antagonism to it. I have a right to expect 
your help in carrying out plans which are so 
important, not only to yourself, but which 
embody the welfare of those who are to follow 
you. In our position, it is a shame to only con- 
sider personal likes and dislikes. A true noble- 
man looks backward and forward both ; only 
the peasant soul begins and ends all controver- 
sies with and in himself.” 

He spoke with an air of grieved melancholy, 
and Donald felt unable to put into speech the 
passions which made such a turmoil in his 
breast. Perhaps indignation that he had been 
selected as the tool of oppression was the most 
dominant feeling. He had spent a part of 
nearly every year of his life at Tasmer; he had 
visited in the cottages, been petted by the old 
men and women, gone on the hills with the 
hunters, been taken by the fishermen in their 


i 62 


Father and Son, 


boats. Sir Rolfe, who had been educated in a 
French seminary, and passed from it into the 
army, had no such intimate knowledge of the 
Torquil peasants. To him they were simply 
tenants, with some very indefinite and undesira- 
ble claim upon him because of relationships in 
the past ; and in his heart he regarded this claim 
as far more of a nuisance than a pleasure. A 
tenantry of peasants who were not Torquils, 
who would treat him with less affection and 
more subservience, would much better suit that 
taste for power which military authority had 
developed in him. 

Yet, in deputing the task of warning the 
people of the new order of things to Donald, 
Sir Rolfe had no desire to shirk unpleasantness 
for himself. He could have sent the factor as 
his representative, but he really wished to give 
a more kindly air to what he knew was an 
unkind proceeding, and also to divest the move- 
ment of that element of law so offensive to the 
Highlandman. He wanted his own way peace- 


Father and Son, 


163 

ably, and he believed that Donald would not be 
opposed, where the factor or sherifi might come 
very badly off. Donald, however, was stubborn 
in his opposition. 

If this sorrow must come to our people," he 
said, “ do not make me the bearer of it. I 
cannot do it, sir. I might, indeed, deliver your 
words to these poor friends oi mine ; but if they 
wept, I should weep with them, and if they 
were angry, my heart would burn with theirs." 

“ Some fathers would bitterly resent such a 
speech, sir. 1 have been much among young 
men. I know their illusions and affectations, 
their impulsiveness and assurance, their quixotic 
ideas of generosity and equity. Twenty years 
old has a standard of right and wrong which 
belongs to twenty years. At fifty you will 
smile at your own folly, and be very grateful to 
me for the decided step I am taking to-day. 
Take the world as it is, sir, and not as it ought 
to be in your opinion. You are probably wrong 


164 


Father and Son, 


on every point, if you can imagine yourself 
wrong." 

‘‘ Father, if what you say is true, and Tasmer 
can really be made so wealthy, why not let the 
Torquils and Mackenzies remain and help and 
share in the new developments. * Call them 
together; tell them as you have told me, what 
the forests and moors can be rented for. Build 
on the seaside, where land is worth nothing, new 
cottages for those who must remove from the 
hills. Out of the increased rental, surely a com- 
pensation could be given them. There must be 
some way ot getting all this good, without doing 
all this evil.’* 

Donald, in your nurse's arms you cried for 
the moon. You are crying for it again, and you 
are as likely to get it in this case, as you were in 
the first." 

** Then excuse me, this morning, sir. I will 
think over what you have said. To-morrow 1 
will give you an answer." 

“ The best answer, the shortest answer, is 


Father and Son, 


165 

doing the thing you are asked to do. Let me 
assure you, I shall not change my purpose. If 
you agree to work with me, I shall be glad ; if 
not, Lovat and I are both determined. That 
which two will takes effect. Good morning, 
sir.” 




CHAPTER IX. 

FATHER MATTHEW FOR THE PEOPLE. 

Donald’s dismission was curt and authorita- 
tive, and he showed plainly his sense of offence 
in it. He saw that his opposition had but con- 
firmed Sir Rolfe in his intentions. He feared 
that he had spoken unwisely ; perhaps he ought 
to have temporized, have yielded a little here, in 
order that he might have gained a little there ; 
that, in short, compromise would have served 
the interests of all better than reproaches and 
opposition. But a young man of twenty-two, 
who knows how to arrange his cloak to suit the 
wind, is simply not a young man at all. 

He went with burning cheeks and uplifted 
head through the long, shivery passages, and 
down the gloomy stairs. There was a fire burn- 


Father Matthew for the People, 167 


ing in the main hall, but the sticks were green 
and wet, and Fergus was growling at the wrong 
wind and the damp air, as he tried in various 
ways to coax the smoke up the wide chimney. 

“ There is not a screen nor a draught to please 
the fire this morning, whateffer. It iss out, it 
will haf to go. A fire that will not burn ; it is 
out, it will have to go. No fire at all will be 
better than one that iss smoking.” 

Donald scarcely answered the old man, but 
his words made an unpleasant impression on 
him. People in trouble and perplexity are apt 
to go back to augury and to take as oracles first 
utterances and signs. So, Donald felt that as no 
screen or draught would make the fire burn, no 
entreaties or arguments would make Sir Rolfe 
feel as he felt. The fire would have to be put 
out. He would have to give up his efforts. 
And, if no fire was better than smoke, so, also, 
silence would be better than hopeless quan 
reling. 

Something like this train of thought was in 


i68 Father Matthew for the People, 


his mind ; but, as yet, his mind was only a whirl 
of angry and sorrowful thoughts. He longed 
for Sara. She was not clever, and she did not 
always agree with him, but they talked together 
on terms of familiar confidence. While reason- 
ing with her he was really reasoning with him- 
self, and he generally felt satisfied and composed 
after talking over any event with her. But, 
Sara was not only far away, she was engrossed, 
altogether engrossed, by the brilliant life she 
was leading. He took her last letter and 
re-read it. Fine dress, fine entertainments, rich 
and noble lovers, these were its topics ; and 
Donald felt how useless it would be to trouble 
her gay hours with his own perplexities and 
sorrows. 

The carry of the storm was directly north- 
ward ; he stood mournfully at the window and 
watched it. The rain, driven furiously before a 
mad wind, was streaming through the air in dis- 
ordered ranks ; the clouds were flying rapidly 
in great grotesque masses, touching the tops of 


Father Matthew for the People, 169 


the fir-trees like a gloomy veil ; the black ocean 
was tossing and raging as if a battle were going 
on among its billows. His thoughts, fleeter 
than the wind, yet troubled as the waters, flew 
swiftly to the small gray manse at Ellerloch. 
How well he could see the girl he loved in it ! 
Her handsome face grave 'and tender with 
thoughts of him. Her slim, tall figure, her busy 
hands, her pleasant voice — not he who raised 
the shade of Helen had a greater power than 
this true lover, for he thought of Roberta until 
she seemed present with him ; until the thought 
like an actual presence soothed and comforted 
him. 

The letter* brought by Angus had been his 
last communication from her. For two weeks 
he had been unable to send any message ; the 
wind had been so constantly adverse, that even 
Angus had been afraid to risk the journey. But 
Donald was not troubled by any of the doubts 
or silly jealousies that some lovers delight in 
encouraging. He trusted Roberta as he trusted 


1 70 Father Matthew for the People. 


himself. He knew that she understood how 
rare and precious communication must be ; and 
it had been decided that letters by the ordinary 
mail would be useless and irritating — the village 
postmaster being a deacon in Mr. Balfour’s 
church — a man who neither for gold nor pity 
would favor love disallowed by a parent on 
such religious grounds. 

Still he did write to her. It was impossible 
to bind affection so strong in bands of silence. 
He told her of his love, his hopes and doubts 
and loneliness, in long, long epistles, which were 
dated and put away, until the happy oppor- 
tunity came for sending them. Angus was 
watching for it ; he had the precious packet in 
his possession ; the boat was ready to slip her 
anchor at the first flurry of favorable wind, and 
toward sundown there appeared a prospect of 
it. In the west there was a streak of crimson ; 
the wind had fallen and shifted southerly ; the 
rain was nearly over. Donald hastily finished 
the letter in hand, and went down to the village 


Father Matthew for the People. 17 1 


to give it to Angus, for he thought it likely he 
could leave with the turn of the tide. 

He fancied that Helen Mackenzie received 
him with constraint ; that even Angus was not 
quite like himself. How could he expect it, if 
they had heard of Sir Rolfe’s intentions ? And 
how were they to know that he was not to 
blame in the matter ? Yet he could not defend 
himself without blaming Sir Rolfe, and he did 
not dare, without good reason, to hurry any 
such justification. On his return to the castle, 
he called at the rectory to see Father Contach, 
for Helen Mackenzie’s coolness wounded him 
very much, and he felt the need of comfort and 
advice. 

The father heard him silently and patiently, 
his white, intellectual face growing finer as h§ 
listened. Once, when Donald alluded to the 
removal of the whole people, his cheeks crim- 
soned, but he instantly laid his hand over the 
cross upon his breast, and suffered not himself 
to speak. Indeed, after Donald had ceased, the 


172 Father Matthew for the People, 


silence was for some minutes unbroken; but 
the young man understood the pause, and 
communed solemnly with his own heart during it. 

With a sigh, Father Matthew lifted his head 
and looked at Donald. He sympathized keenly 
with his sense of shame and wrong, but it was 
his duty to assume the calmness he was very far 
from feeling. 

My son, what is your anger about ?” he 
asked. Because you are likely to be spoken 
evil of when you do not deserve it. It is 
indeed, mortifying to your sensitive nature, but 
one of the best penances which the heart can 
offer is to endure a continual cross and abnega- 
tion of self-love.” 

Is it right for me to be made the tool of 
oppression ? No ; I will not disgrace my 
manhood by turning these people out oi their 
homes. They have as much right to them as I 
have.” 

“ Stop, Donald. Can they show any legal 
right to them ? Alas ! No.” 


Father Matthew for the People, 1 73 


“ Because they trusted to the Torquil, they 
have the moral right. Is not that sufficient?” 

If this earth were Heaven, if God’s kingdom 
had come, if His will were done, the moral right 
would be the strongest of all rights.” 

“ I cannot rest. Father. Helen Mackenzie has 
made me thoroughly miserable. Come with me 
to Tasmer, and speak to Sir Rolfe for me.” 

“ Yes ; I will go. I have spoken once. I will 
speak again. I did not think the matter was to 
be hurried on so rapidly.” 

The families in Easter-Torquil are to be 
warned to leave at Whitsuntide. There are 
thirty-six families, numbering nearly two hun- 
dred people ; what is to become of them ? Per- 
haps I ought to speak to them ; will they give 
up the grazing if I ask them?” 

They cannot live without grazing-land. 
They have not the sea to help them when the 
soil fails. To refuse them grazing is virtually to 
expel them from their cottages and crofts. 


1 74 Father Matthew for the People, 


There is no need to serve them with a notice of 
dispossession.” 

I know, and they are our own race and 
blood. They won the lands we call ours to-day. 
Father, you must prevent this great wrong. Sir 
Rolfe is at present under the influence of Simon 
Lovat ; he is not hard-hearted. He loves piety 
and virtue. He will listen to you who are his 
guide and confessor.” 

Alas, my son! They who listen not to the 
witness which is within every man’s breast are 
not likely to heed either the law or the proph- 
ets ; no, nor yet listen, though one came from 
the dead. I hope that you were patient and 
respectful to Sir Rolfe ; reproaches will only 
make him more determined to carry out his 
plans in spite of you.” 

“ I was angry, but I said little. It was hard to 
be patient, and I fear I shall not be able to 
restrain myself when we speak again.” 

Hide the cross of our Lord within your 


Father Matthew for the People, . 175 


breast. As long as you firmly clasp it in your 
hand, surely the enemy will be at your feet.” 

As he spoke they left the rectory together. 
The night was dark and the walk was not a cheer- 
ful one. The drops of rain from the firs wet 
them like a shower, and the wind ran through 
the old trees with those pitiful, sinister wails it 
learns one knows not where. The old gray 
castle looked unusually gloomy. There was the 
dull glow of the fire in the parlor, but all the 
windows up-stairs, except those in the TorquiFs 
room, were blank and dark. Fergus was long 
in coming to open the door. He had been in the 
kitchen discussing with the women the strange, 
sad news which had only just become known to 
them. When he saw Father Matthew, he prob- 
ably divined on what errand of mercy he had 
come ; for he looked into his face and then sud- 
denly covered his eyes and began to cry like a 
child. 

Donald could not bear it. He bent his head, 
and his mouth was twitching with suppressed 


1 76 Father Matthew for the People, 


emotion. He did not wait to hear what request 
the old man was making amid his passionate 
sobs. He knew that he had daughters and 
grandchildren in Easter-Torquil, and that his 
son farmed and fished in the village below ; and 
he understood the anxiety and fear that were in 
his heart. But he would not wait to hear it 
voiced, lest he should speak words that he might 
regret ; and so, lifting a candle hastily, he went 
to his room. The fire had been allowed to go 
out. Donald never remembered such inatten- 
tion before. It said more to him than any words 
of complaint could have done. Fergus must 
indeed have been utterly miserable to neglect a 
duty so necessary to his comfort. 

Indeed, Fergus had never before known such 
sorrow. The Celt has many faults, but he has a 
heart overflowing with the tenderest domestic 
affections. He, of all fathers on the earth, can 
best understand that passionate wish of Hebrew 
parental woe— ‘‘ Oh, my son! Would to God 
that I had died for thee 1 ” Fergus could not 


Father Matthew for the People, 177 


endure the thought of his children and their 
babies — wanderers, seeking a home. He felt 
that at least he must share their sorrow and 
desolation ; and yet he had been fifty years in 
Tasmer, and it was no light personal grief to 
break bonds of such long growth, and to forsake 
the roof that had been, in the main, such a happy 
shelter. 

He said not a word of this condition of affairs, 
but the almost childlike condition of helplessness 
and grief in the old man’s face was sufficient. 
Father Matthew understood it all, and the good 
priest went into the presence of the master of 
Tasmer with a heart burning with just anger. 
Sir Rolfe was sitting brooding over the fire. 
Occasionally he lifted his eyes to the open door 
of the oratory, whispering, when he did so, some 
audible prayer ; for in the faintly lit gloom the 
great white cross was solemnly visible. 

It was the first object that met Father Mat- 
thew’s vision, and with a rapid step he passed 
Sir Rolfe, and for a few moments silently pros- 


1 78 Father Matthew for the People, 


trated himself in that silent presence. His face 
was almost as pale as the lifted cross when he 
re-entered the room and set his chair upon the 
hearth, and Sir Rolfe was compelled to notice 
the intense feeling in the usually placid coun- 
tenance. 

The subject was immediately opened, and 
with an indisputable affection and authority, the 
priest pleaded for his little congregation. He 
went over the arguments which Donald had 
suggested but not dared to press. He spoke of 
the Highlander’s intense love for his own land. 

‘They cling to these bens and straths like 
Alpine trees to their rocks,” he said. “ How can 
you tear up whole families by their roots, and 
put the torch to so many happy, pious little 
homes? They are dear to them as Tasmer is to 
you. Is not one little Highland child worth all 
the land in Kintail and Lochaber? You are a 
soldier. Sir Rolfe. You know what the High- 
land soldier is. You have seen the 42d and the 
93d in battle. They have possessed and defended 


Father Matthew for the People. 1 79 


these mountains from immemorial time. They 
have filled the world with the glory of their 
deeds. Have pity on your comrades in arms ! 
They are the children of the Most High. Have 
pity upon those who kneel at the same altar 
with you ?” 

Father, I have thought of all these things. 
The past is past. We are come to an entirely 
new era of development. The law of progress 
is that it must tread under foot feelings hitherto 
held sacred. These people have lived in semi- 
barbarism and been content with it. When the 
eagle thinks it time for her young to take to 
their own wings and provide for themselves, 
she tears up the nest. I, and you, have seen the 
wise birds do it. If I now destroy these anti- 
quated huts, and send their inhabitants into the 
world, they will learn that life has objects and 
hopes, yes, and pleasures, they had not dreamed 
of. In a few years they will thank me. I can 
wait for my justification.’' 

‘‘You will send them from the pure, healthy 


1 8o Father Matthew for the People, 


life of these ancient hills, to the great cities, 
where disease, degradation, poverty and death 
await them. The oldest men and women among 
them are but children — simple, pious children. 
They are not fit for the world. Have pity on 
them !” 

“ If any wish to go to Canada, I will do all I 
can to help them.” 

‘‘Are you able to send them all together 
there ?” 

“The idea is absurd. I might help some 
young, strong fellow, who was able to make 
good use of help ; but — ” 

“ Then you would only further break to 
pieces the shattered homes. William Rufus 
brought on himsell a violent death and the exe- 
cration of centuries for depopulating the New 
Forest in order to make a hunting-park. That 
was an act done in days of cruelty and darkness. 
You and other Highland gentlemen, in an age 
of high civilization, are about to turn ten coun- 
ties over to wild animals. Very soon, it will be 


Father Matthew for the People, i8i 


forests from the south border of Perthshire to 
the sea-board of Ross. From Deeside to Spey- 
side we shall find nothing but deer; no men, no 
women, no children, no homes.” 

“ Father, I do not interfere in your affairs.” 

But you would have the right to interfere 
in them if I were to violate my duty as you are 
now violating yours. Every peasant in Torquil 
would have the right to call me to account.” 

Listen to me. There is right on my side, 
also.” 

“ Surely, I will listen.” 

“ I have immense deer forests. Hitherto they 
have been lying idle. I can make six thousand 
pounds a year out of them alone. Have I not 
the right to make it ?” 

What harm do the few crofters do on the 
fringe of these forests ?” 

They are forever quarreling with game- 
keepers, and forever claiming rights on the hills 
which disturb the deer. These shooting-ranges 
will be let entirely to rich Englishmen. They 


1 82 Father Matthew for the People. 


have none of our traditional interest in the 
peasantry and the clans ; but they have all an 
Englishman’s ideas with regard to the sacred- 
ness of property. They will not rent a shooting 
unless these troublesome peasants, with their 
antiquated notions of their own dignity and 
rights, are removed. Father, your ideas would 
disorganize society ; they are simply socialistic.” 

‘‘ And I am a socialist in the sense in which 
Christ Jesus taught socialism. So is every 
priest at the altar. So is every religieuse in our 
fraternities and sisterhoods. He allowed only 
one claim to power : that of a man serving his 
fellows. ‘ Let him that would be first among 
you be servant of all.’ ” 

“You are my friend, my counselor and my 
confessor. In matters of piety I defer entirely 
to you. In worldly matters, Father, you are not 
able to judge for me. Are you not in the world, 
yet not of the world ? A living man, and yet, aa 
regards all that makes daily life, a dead man ?” 

“ No, no, no ! It is you. Sir Rolfe, that are 


Father Matthew for the People. 1 83 


dead.” Then, passing quickly to within the 
door of the oratory, he stretched out his arms to 
the Christ upon the cross, and cried out in an 
ecstasy: I live ; yet not ly but Christ liveth in 

me ! 

Sir Rolfe was profoundly affected, but he was 
not convinced. He rose, and taking the priest’s 
hands said humbly : 

“Do not judge me with severity. My inten- 
tions are good. I have heard you say there is 
no sin without intention. One of the dearest 
objects I have is to rebuild and to beautify the 
church at Torquil.” 

“ Alas ! Alas ! Can you give stone and mor- 
tar as a ransom for the souls of men ? For the 
living stones you are going to pull down and 
break in pieces and scatter abroad ?” 

He went away with the words ; leaving the 
master of Tasmer to ponder the solemn question 
he had asked. 



CHAPTER X. 

THE minister’s INTERFERENCE. 

** Love gives esteem, and then he gives desert ; he either 
finds equality or makes it.” 

“ To be heavenly is to know that the commonest relations, 
the most vulgar duties, are God’s commands.” 

“ Respect we owe, love we give, and men mostly would 
rather give than pay.” 

There are times in every life when it seems 
best to cease reasoning about events, and let cir- 
cumstances decide for us. Sara Torquil, after 
some weeks of triumphant social success, and 
private heart-aching, doubts and fears, came one 
morning in a certain way to this conclusion. 
Her entrance into London fashionable life had 
been made under very favorable circumstances. 


The Minister's Interference, 185 


Lady Moidart belonged to a set the most exclu- 
sive, and her radiantly lovely niece was at once 
the fashionable beauty of the season. When she 
arrived in London she found her advent had 
been chronicled in somewhat extravagant terms, 
and she could not help looking with a great deal 
of interest through the number of the Court 
Journal which had done her this honor. 

She saw also in it a mention of Lord Lenox’s 
movements ; it was quite evident he was taking 
his full share in the festivities of the world in 
which he moved. Her cheeks glowed and her 
eyes grew luminous as she reflected that he 
would in all probability learn that morning of 
her arrival in London. He was a favorite of 
Lady Moidart’s, and accustomed to visit at her 
house ; she was, therefore, certain that he would 
call upon them at once. 

With the greatest care she arrayed herself in 
the pale-blue tints he approved, and which cer- 
tainly gave a marvelous charm to the exquisite 
coloring of her complexion and the crown of red- 


1 86 The Ministers Interference. 

brown hair which was a glory to her. So rest- 
less, so happy with expectation was she ! Yet 
she forced herself to sit with apparent calmness 
at her embroidery frame — forced herself to 
attend to Lady Moidart’s plans, and even to 
take an interest in them, though she was listen- 
ing with all her soul, at every clang of the 
door-bell, for the sound of steps, which, how- 
ever light upon the thick carpets, she was cer- 
tain she would be able to detect 

Many visitors came, but Lenox came not. 
Hour after hour passed, the whole day went, 
the evening also. He did not call, and he did 
not send either an apology or a message of con- 
gratulation. Lady Moidart never noticed the 
omission. It appeared to Sara as if she talked 
of every one but Lord Lenox. For a whole 
week she endured this silent alternation of hope 
and despair. Every morning brought the hope, 
every night the despair. She did not meet him 
in the Row, nor see him at the opera, and as she 
was to be presented the following week, it had 


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The Minister's Interference, 


187 


been decided that she should accept no invita- 
tions until her homage at court had been paid. 

Very often she was on the point of mention- 
ing his name to Lady Moidart, but a delicate 
reserve about a matter so personal always sealed 
her lips when the actual words were to be 
spoken. At length one Sunday night he was 
announced. It was just at dark when Lady 
Moidart was half asleep upon a sofa. Sara was 
at the window looking thoughtfully into the 
gloomy square. She had not heard the bell ; 
she had ceased to expect him. His entrance 
was so unexpected that she could scarcely speak 
the few words of courtesy necessary. He was 
perfectly calm, and apparently as indifferent as 
if they had never met before. 

He paid his respects to Lady Moidart and 
then turned to Sara with outstretched hand. 
As she took it his eyes sought hers, and she was 
compelled to endure that questioning look of 
tenderness in them which she knew so well. 
She dropped her white lids to hide the tremu- 


1 88 The Mmisters Interference. 


lous joy which it was out of her power to con- 
trol. She forgot, she forgave his dilatory 
notice of her arrival, she tried, as loving women 
ever try, to be fair and sweet in his eyes. 

Yet, his whole visit, when she reviewed it, 
pained her deeply. He suffered Lady Moidart 
to talk of plans and parties which entirely 
ignored him, and he made no protest against 
her neglect. He spoke of his own engagements 
without reference to Sara ; he said, with a laugh 
of affected self-depreciation, that he would have 
been glad to be their escort to a sale at 
Chrystie’s, but that it would be detrimental to 
Sara to be seen with such a poor fellow as he 
was known to be. In a score of ways he made 
the indignant, yet affectionate woman feel that 
the love of Tasmer could not be transported to 
London. And yet she told herself that he 
might be trying to deceive Lady Moidart; for 
she could not misunderstand that sudden leap- 
ing up of feeling into his face, that reluctant 
separation of their hands, that indefinable some- 


The Minister's Interference, 189 


thing, impalpable as the atmosphere, and yet 
beyond all reasoning away. 

In reality, Lenox did love her as much as it 
was possible for him to love. But he was a man 
who, without being vulgarly fond of money, 
knew well the value of money. He was aware 
that Sara’s fortune was as yet a mere trifle. Sir 
Rolfe, if he lived and carried out his clearance 
policy, might become a rich man and leave his 
daughter a handsome income, but — and there 
was so much hung upon that “ but.” He could 
not afford to marry her for some years, unless 
he preferred marriage and Continental econo- 
mies to a bachelor life of English comforts and 
English society. There were hours in which 
his decision on this matter wavered very much. 
Sara was such a pearl among women. Her beauty 
entranced him, and he knew all the piety and 
amiability of her nature. She was not brilliant 
or clever, but he did not like brilliant, clever 
women, and Sara Torquil was precisely his ideal 
wife, if she had only been as rich as she was 


1 90 The Minister's Interference, 

beautiful and good. So he suffered in his way, 
also ; not as much as Sara, for he was not 
capable of much mental suffering, but quite 
enough to make him feel at times as if he 
would run all risks of future discomfort rather 
than give her up to any other pretender to her 
favor. 

It was singular that Mr. Maclane, the only 
real rival he had, never gave him a moment’s 
uneasiness. He saw that he was often at Lady 
Moidart’s, and frequently driving with Sara ; 
but he supposed it was only the friendship of an 
elderly man for a lovely woman who had been 
his hostess and companion’during a few pleasant 
weeks. Maclane was far too prudent a lover to 
make his attentions obtrusive even in Sara’s 
eyes. She only knew that he divined, as if by 
instinct, when he could give her pleasure or do 
her service, and also when it was the precise 
moment to relieve her of his presence. Insen- 
sibly she grew to rely upon a love which never 
under any circumstances failed her ; which never 


The Minister's Interference. 


191 


demanded anything from her ; which was never 
absent when desired, and never present when 
unwelcome or mat-apropos. Long before winter 
was over it had come to be a question in her 
mind between the two men. Lenox gave her so 
many anxious hours, so many self-humiliations, 
so much of that hope deferred that makes the 
heart sick. Maclane never suffered himself to 
be associated in her mind with anything unhappy 
or unwelcome. 

So, beneath the outside triumph, beneath the 
songs and the smiles and the beautiful apparel, 
and the atmosphere of luxury and pleasure, 
there was this constant under-current of the 
future ; and Sara knew very well’ that, after all, 
it was the real tide in her affairs, and that it was 
bearing her on to her life’s destiny. At first she 
tried to understand and control it, but she soon 
discovered that its forces and tides were far 
beyond her knowledge or even her imagination. 

“We are all the creatures of circumstances, ” 
Lady Moidart was fond of asserting. “ If you 


192 


The Minister s Interference, 


could write a letter to them, Sara, what truth 
there would be in signing yourself — ’ Your 
humble and obedient servant.’ As for making 
circumstances, as Napoleon advised, I consider 
it sinful folly. Drift with the tide of events, 
Sara, and you are as likely to get into harbor as 
if you tied yourself to the wheel of your own 
foresight or wisdom.” 

Sara was too diffident and too personally reti- 
cent to dispute this position ; but the placid 
smile which Lady Moidart took for her assent 
was, in reality, the result of that sweet and sud- 
den inward reliance which the habit of piety 
grants. Her soul passed with a thought the 
drifting and the turmoil of chance and circum- 
stance. However hidden the tide ol her life, the 
pilot of the Galilean lake knew all its shoals and 
currents. However perplexing the events with 
which she had to deal, she could go to Mary, 
Mother of Mercy, comforter of all anxious and 
sorrowful women. 

After, then, some weeks of feverish hopes and 


The Ministers Interference. 193 

uncertainties, she decided to let hersell be 
guided by circumstances, which she committed 
afresh every day to the direction of her guardian 
angel. Some of these circumstances were, 
indeed, afar off and beyond her control. What 
could she say or do to prevent the many-sided 
tragedy preparing within the walls of Tasmer? 
She had understood it but very little when she 
was there ; the wrong, the misery likely to flow 
from it, she had no conception of. Lord Lenox 
spoke of the clearances on his own estate as 
improvements. The people of Torquil never 
concerned her in the same way as they inter- 
ested Donald. They were not likely to be her 
tenants ; she had not the personal knowledge of 
them which he had. Her mind had been fully 
occupied with the prospects of her visit to 
London and her hopes respecting Lord Lenox. 
The subject of the Highland clearances, though 
she heard gentlemen discussing it, interested her 
in about the same manner as the bills before 
Parliament or the prospects of the wheat crop. 


194 


The Minister s Interference, 


Yet, little as she thought of the subject, it 
was the current setting toward her destiny. 
She was watching other currents, hoping from 
others, fearing from others. She never thought 
of this one. It was out of her sight, almost out 
of her hearing ; it was beyond the horizon of 
her usual life. Neither did Maclane think it 
worth taking into his consideration. It was the 
one thing touching Sara’s life which he ignored. 
Yet, it was the current, the fortunate tide of his 
love. 

For there had been a whisper among the hills 
of Tasmer — a soughful and sorrowful whisper 
of coming evil, some weeks before that night on 
which Father Matthew Contach made his urgent 
appeal for the homes of the peasants. After it, 
the whisper soon became a great cry of grief 
and indignation. The advice which is not taken 
irritates ; and Sir Rolfe, after he had shaken off 
the personal influence of the priest, resented his 
interference. He denied to his own heart the 
claim of the people to any share in the Torquil 


The Minister's Interference, 


195 


lands. If King George and the advancing spirit 
of the age had broken up the clan system, it was 
not his fault. He was compelled to suffer a 
certain loss of power and dignity. The people 
lost certain privileges. He was about to make 
the best of what was left to him. They must do 
the same. If they were men, they would be 
glad to do it. Even parents came to a time 
when they expected their sons to seek a career 
for themselves. The tie between himself and 
the clan was worn away to a mere sentiment ; it 
was an imposition on their part to plead it. The 
word imposition always roused him. As soon as 
this idea came into his mind, he passionately 
assured himself that he would never submit 
to it. 

The first result of this decision was a decided 
estrangement between the Torquil and his son. 
He saw that he could expect no effective assist- 
ance from Donald ; and his first movement was 
to send for his factor. 

^‘Mr. Frazer,” he said “you will procure 


196 The Minister s Interference, 


summonses of removal and serve them upon the 
tenants of Easter-Torquil.’' 

Frazer was ready to obey such a mandate. 
He considered it a sacred duty to the estate, and 
spoke so seriously on its undoubted good results, 
that Sir Rolfe experienced, after the consulta- 
tion, a very unusual content. 

To Donald, he did not again offer his con- 
fidence ; he put the young man quite outside his 
favor and society. They met only at the dinner 
hour, and Donald thought his father contrived 
to make it the most uncomfortable hour in the 
day. Very naturally, during these bitter weeks, 
Donald’s thoughts turned continually to Roberta 
Balfour ; but as the winter went on, the inter- 
views of the lovers became constantly more and 
more uncertain; still, when it was possible to 
take the boat along that dangerous coast, he 
followed out the plan devised by Angus Mac- 
kenzie. 

But such meetings were exceedingly rare ; so 
rare that even Mr. Balfour, whose suspicions 


The Minister s Interference, 


197 


were constantly on the alert, never surmised 
them. They were not entirely happy meetings. 
Roberta had too honest a nature to feel satisfied 
with any clandestine pleasure. She was humil- 
iated in her own sight every time they 
occurred ; but when Donald had risked his life 
to see her she could not resist his entreaties. 
For her own gratification she would not have 
transgressed her father's will ; for Donald’s 
comfort she ventured to meet even her own 
heart’s reproaches. 

One day Donald arrived at Rosa Macken- 
zie’s about noon, and Rosa immediately went 
to the manse with a few fresh eggs for the 
minister. There was not a word said to 
Roberta, but Roberta understood without a 
word that Donald was waiting to see her. She 
was reading aloud to her father, and when Rosa 
was gone the book was resumed. Perhaps 
there was something in the tone of her voice, in 
the forced calm of her manner, or in her flush- 
ing and paling face which roused Mr. Balfour’s 


198 The Minister's Interference, 


wonder. He watched her as she read, with 
keen intentness. He was scarcely aware of a 
word in the argument Roberta was reading. 
Something seemed to have suddenly opened his 
eyes. When Roberta glanced toward the few 
cottages on the seashore, he saw in that glance 
matter for fears and doubts that troubled him 
greatly. After dinner was over, he said : 

“ You need not read to me this afternooon, 
Roberta. You do not look as well as usual. 
Are you sick ? Or nervous ? Perhaps a walk 
in the fresh air will do you good.” 

He did not wait for her reply. He was a man 
with a tender and scrupulous conscience, and he 
would not tempt his child to lie to him. He 
only wanted her to feel, if she were deceiving 
him, that her efforts had not been entirely suc- 
cessful. He suspected that Rosa Mackenzie 
had brought her a letter. He could not tell 
how or why the suspicion had come to him. 
Certainly he had neither seen nor heard any- 
thing to warrant it— yet there it was. Up and 


The Minister s Interference. 


199 


down his own room he walked. He was watch- 
ing his child, but he would not consciously 
admit the fact to himself. Still, when he per- 
ceived that she had dressed in haste and was 
going toward Rosa Mackenzie’s cottage, his 
heart burned with foreboding anger. 

For some minutes he stood considering the 
circumstance. Should he seek confirmation of 
his wrong ? Or should he be content to enjoy 
such hours of hope and faith in his child as his 
doubts permitted him? Was not this a case 
where ignorance would be better than knowl- 
edge ? He speedily denied the supposition — 
vehemently denied it. No, no ; it was better to 
have the whole truth. If in pursuit of it he did 
Roberta wrong, then he would acknowledge the 
wrong and trust her forever afterward. If 
Roberta were really deceiving him, the sooner 
she was reminded of her sin and made aware of 
its uselessness, the better it would be. He deter- 
mined, in the latter case, to do his duty as kindly 
as possible. 


200 The Minister s Interference. 


“ I will remember my youth,” he whispered. 

I will not be hard with her ; for the young 
man is her first lover, and he is, also, a ver}^ 
pleasant young man. Oh, if he had only been 
free and frank with me ! I could have loved him 
well ; yes, I could have loved him, though he is 
of an ill family and a blind faith.” 

It was with such tolerant thoughts he fol- 
lowed Roberta. If the lovers had been watch- 
ing they could have seen him coming. But 
they sat together on the hearth, with their 
backs to the small window, far too deeply 
absorbed in their own sorrowful love to remem- 
ber such a possibility. Rosa Mackenzie was 
kneading oat-cakes at the table. It was her 
kindly part to be absorbed in her occupation ; 
and so, when the minister opened the door, all 
alike were astonished and dismayed. D onald and 
Roberta stood up hand in hand. They did not 
utter a word, but looked straight at him with sen- 
sitive faces and shining eyes. Rosa Mackenzie 
rubbed the meal off her hands, and as she pushed 


The Minister s Interference. 201 

forward a small stool, muttered apologies in 
mixed Gaelic and English. 

Balfour did not notice her at all. He touched 
his daughter, and said, sternly: 

“ Roberta, go home ! This is a tryst I will 
keep for you. Go home at once !” 

‘‘ You are going to be angry with Donald, 
father — going to say unkind things to him. I 
will stay with him, for I am as much in the 
wrong as he is.” 

“ 1 tell you, go home, Roberta. Do not dis- 
obey me.” 

“ Father, I am to be Donald’s wife. I must 
stand by Donald if you are angry with him.” 

“ Mr. Balfour, forgive me. I would not have 
begged Roberta to see me here if you would 
have allowed me to see her in her own home^ in 
your presence. Upon my honor, sir — ’’ 

“ Your honor, sir! It is not worth the breath 
with which you assert it. As one man writes to 
another man, 1 wrote to you. I showed you 
that a marriage between yourself and Miss Bal- 


202 


The Minister s Interference, 

iour was impossible on every hand. I asked of 
your honor so much pity for my girl as would 
permit her to pass through the suffering you 
have brought upon her without false hopes and 
without sympathy, which could only bring more 
suffering. For your own selfish pleasure you 
come here to encourage her wretchedness, her 
futile longings for you, her ill-starred affection. 
There is not on the earth a more distinctly sel- 
fish creature than a young man who fancies him- 
self in love.” 

- Sir—” 

“ 1 know what I am saying. For your own 
personal pleasure, you induce Roberta to break 
God’s commands, to forfeit her own self-respect, 
to stain the stainless purity of her girlhood. 
You trouble all her hours. You have given her 
sorrow and restlessness for the joy and freedom 
of her old content and the glad companionship 
of nature. She was happy ; you have made her 
miserable. I, too— what have I ever done to 


The MinisteT s Interference. 203 


you but good ? And how have you repaid 
me ?’' 

“ Fate has been very cruel to me.” 

“ Fate ! Fate ! What nonsense you are talk- 
ing! You have been cruel to yourself ; cruel to 
Roberta ; cruel to me. If, as you assert, you 
loved Roberta the moment you saw her, then 
the first night you slept under my root you 
deceived me ; the first time you broke bread at 
my table you were a traitor. Quite well you 
understood that there could be no question of a 
marriage between a Calvinist and a Romanist ; 
between a nobleman’s son and heir and the 
daughter of a poor Free-Kirk minister.” 

“Oh, sir! love hopes for impossibilities! 
Love has reasons that reason cannot understand. 
If you have ever loved — surely you have 
loved?” 

“ Sir, my love is a sacred thing. It is not for 
discussion. Don’t imagine yourself to be the 
only man who has felt the sublime frenzy. 
Only, if you had been a man, you would have 


204 


The Minister's Interfere^ice, 


borne the disappointment alone. You would 
have thought of your father and of Roberta’s 
father. You would have shielded from useless 
longings the girl you profess to love. You 
would have respected the spirit and integrity 
of your faith, and never asked yourself — no, 
not once — if it were possible to marry a wife 
not of it. For you would have regarded the 
misery of a home in which there would be 
two altars and a divided worship — perhaps 
even a divided household. That very first 
night you would have worshiped with me as 
Naaman bowed himself in the house of 
Rimmon, under a protest, and I should have 
respected you for it. 1 vow to you, had you 
done this I should have honored you ; 1 should 
have felt a sincere sympathy in your suffering, 
and all your life long I would have been your 
friend.” 

“ I have made a mistake, sir. 1 thought of 
none of these things. I thought only of 
Roberta. Pardon me, I beg you.” 


The Minister s hiterference, 205 


‘‘ If I could forgive this selfish thoughtless- 
ness, this reckless putting of natural craving 
before conscience and ordinary consideration of 
consequences, how can I forgive a man who 
lures my child from truth, from her home and 
her duty, and teaches her to deceive her con- 
science and her father?” 

“ It is my fault ! It is my fault, father ! I 
love Donald. If it be a sin to love him I am 
not sorry for the sin. I cannot give up Donald , 
I would rather die than give him up !” 

Dare not to say such wicked words, 
Roberta. Do you think the Almighty opens 
the gates of death for the puling of a love- 
sick girl?” Then, addressing Donald, he 
asked : “ What says Sir Rolfe Torquil on this 
matter ?” 

“ I have not yet named it to him. He is much 
occupied with important changes.” 

“Oh! You have not named it! Your 
behavior to your father is as bad as it is to me. 


5 o 6 The Minister's Interference, 


sir. Come, Roberta, it is time we were going. 
Bid Mr. Torquil farewell.” 

There were no tears in her eyes when she put 
her hand in Donald’s hand. But the bitterest 
tears are shed inwardly. All her fine color had 
fled ; she was as pale as ivory. 

You will not forget me, Roberta?” 

“ As long as I live I will be faithful to you, 
Donald.” 

So she went from him, and for some minutes 
he remained motionless and speechless. He 
felt as if the tide of life was ebbing away from 
his heart ; he thought he would die of grief ; he 
wished to die. Oh, where is the heart that does 
not hope to break under its first great sorrow ! 




CHAPTER XI. 

THE CLEARANCE. 

The summons for the clearing of Easter-Tor- 
quil had been served early in March. The 
cottages were to be vacated at Whitsuntide, and 
the time was at hand. Sir Rolfe had expected 
some resistance, for he was well aware that 
Macdonald and other Highland chiefs had only 
dispossessed their tenants by invoking the aid of 
the law, or the sword. But Macdonald’s sept 
were Calvinists of the straitest kind ; men who 
had been protesting from the days of Knox to 
the days of Chalmers. Resistance to any 
encroachment on what they considered their 
rights, or their opinions, was a familiar attitude 
to them. The Torquils and Mackenzies were 
equally familiar with the idea of loyalty and 


2o8 


The Clearance, 


obedience to their church, and to all constituted 
authorities. No people on earth had the law- 
abiding spirit more strong than the Catholic 
clans of Scotland ; and though the finest 
soldiers that ever drew sword, they were incapa- 
ble of defending themselves, except in an open 
and recognized fight. From behind a hedge 
they would not have fired a shot, even at the 
devil. 

At the first mention of a clearance, they felt 
that their only hope lay in an appeal to the kind- 
ness of Sir Rolfe Torquil ; and if that appeal 
tailed, their homes must inevitably be desolated. 
Yet the clan tie was so strong and living in their 
own hearts, they could not imagine it less potent 
in the heart of the Torquil. The old men and 
women, especially, were certain that when the 
evil hour came, they would be permitted to end 
tneir days in their little cottages. If the young 
men and women and the growing children were 
removed, death would very quickly dispossess 
the lew aged tenants, and every year would see 


The Clearance. 


209 


the land clearing itself ot its human encum- 
brances. 

Even Father Contach inclined to this opinion; 
though after every useless intercession he advised 
the people to expect no favor and make their 
preparations with all the speed possible. Some 
of them 1\ad friends in the Lewes ; others in 
the Skye ; a few had sons or daughters, uncles 
or cousins in North Carolina, where many of the 
Mackenzies fled after the bloody settlement of 
Culloden. Letters asking help had been sent to 
these various sources, and Father Matthew had 
also solicited assistance from richer congregations 
in various localities. He desired to keep the 
unhappy people together, and he thought it pos- 
sible to collect money suflicient to send the little 
colony as one family to their kindred in America. 

But letters asking assistance are not usually 
answered promptly, and Whitsuntide arrived 
and found the doomed exiles without any defi- 
nite plans or any certain means. There seemed 
nothing to be done except to urge upon Sir 


210 


The Clear mice. 


Rolfe a stay of proceedings until arrangements 
could be completed for the people’s future. But 
Father Matthew had a strong repugnance to 
approach him again upon the subject. Such 
interviews had become more and more strained 
and painful, and he had found that every appeal 
to Sir Rolfe’s justice or kindness had ofrly inten- 
sified his sense of irritation and made him more 
determined to carry out his own plans without 
let or hindrance. 

He took precisely this tone when the father 
made his final appeal. i 

“ I am sorry to refuse you, personally, any 
favor. Father Contach, but I cannot permit my 
business to wait longer upon people notoriously 
inclined to procrastinate, and to rely upon any 
one but themselves. I have laid out a certain 
life-work. I am not a young man. I cannot 
wait upon probabilities resting upon some Tor- 
quil or Mackenzie in Lewes or America. It is 
unjust to ask me.” 

“ But the aged?” 


The Clearance, 


21 I 


“ Age has nothing to do with a principle. If 
I favor the aged, why not the little children ? 
Hector Torquil is the oldest man in the clachan. 
Suppose I allow him and his wife Sheila to 
remain. I know that they will be continually 
mourning for their children and grandchildren 
and great-grandchildren. I shall never hear the 
last of their loneliness and helplessness. Such 
half-measures are cruel all around. Do you sup- 
pose I derive any pleasure from sending these 
people away ? I assure you it is a great trouble, 
and has been, as you are aware, something also 
of a loss ; for I put into your hands fifty pounds 
for their assistance, a sum of ready money I can- 
not very easily spare. The good of the estate 
requires that they should be cleared out root 
and branch ; and when a trouble requires the 
knife of the surgeon, the doctor has no charm 
for it. Father. I will have no half-measures in 
this matter.” 

So the flitting was a determined thing, and a 
few of the younger people understood it to be 


212 


The Clearance, 


so ; and without indulging any further hope, they 
departed as quickly and quietly as possible. But 
when Whitmonday came there were still over a 
hundred souls in Easter-Torquil who knew not 
where to lay their heads. Fortunately, it was a 
glorious spring day, the corries, hazy with blue- 
bells, the green, green straths, white with dais- 
ies ; the wind fresh, but not cold ; the sky blue, 
the air full of exhilarating sunshine. Never had 
the little clachan looked so fair, so peaceful, so 
happy. But, oh ! What anxiety and fears and 
sad regrets were at every hearth. 

About ten o’clock the factor and a body of 
men arrived. Immediately they began to raze 
the empty cottages. For a short time the 
people looked on in bewildered grief, but very 
soon affairs were made terribly clear to them. 
There was not a shadow of favor to be shown to 
any ; even Ann Ross, an aged, bed-ridden 
woman, was to be removed to a family in the 
village of Torquil, who had agreed to care for 
her at Sir Rolfe’s charge. The helpless old 


The Clearance. 


213 


crone filled the air with her cries as the men 
lifted her on to a litter and carried her down the 
mountains. It was the beginning of a scene of 
indescribable hubbub and suffering. 

The men were mostly sullen and silent as they 
moved out of their homes their household furni- 
ture ; but the women wailed, as if each separate 
woman were at the funeral of her first-born ; and 
the children, at first full of wonder, grew cold 
and hungry as the day wore on, and added their 
cries to the general confusion. In the meantime 
the factor and his men went busily on destroy- 
ing the clachan; as quickly as a cottage was 
cleared it was taken possession of ; and soon 
after three o’clock every door had been closed. 

It was then growing imperative for the ejected 
crofters to seek shelter for the night. Most of 
them had relatives or friends in Torquil vil- 
lage ; and so, laden with their most necessary 
utensils and clothing, and carrying their young- 
est children, they went together down the 
mountain. They had to pass the church, and 


214 


The Clearance. 


with one impulse they gathered around the 
rectory door. Even at this hour they could not 
abandon the hope that the good father, who had 
always before been sufficient for their sorrow, 
would still be able to help them. He had just 
returned from Balmacarra, where he had gone to 
meet the mail, trusting that it might bring help. 

He was very weary and hungry ; but when he 
saw the old and the young standing around his 
door, uttering no complaint, as they watched 
with a wistful, sad patience, for him, his heart 
burned with sorrow and with righteous anger. 
He knew not what to do for them ; but in this 
extremity of his judgment, he passed rapidly 
from the rectory to the church, and prostrated 
himself before the altar. He did not speak to 
the people, but they saw his face, and they 
divined for what purpose he had gone into the 
immediate presence of God, and they waited 
with a touching resignation his will and word. 

In a few minutes, they saw him standing in 
he open door of the church, his face bright 


The Clearance, 


215 


from his communion with Heaven, his hands out- 
stretched, as if to assure them of his blessing and 
assistance. They under stood that he wished to 
speak to them, and quietly gathered around him. 

My children,” he said, the day of trouble 
has come at last, but do not fear. God takes 
particular care of the good, and those whom He 
loves He saves. I know, and I am sure that 
this trial shall in the end be for your welfare. 
A little while you must wait upon God. Well, 
then, wait here, in His precincts, in the shadow 
of His sanctuary. Go into the church-yard, and 
erect large booths there for your shelter. It is 
God’s acre, no man dare molest you. Many 
old masts are lying around ; take them for sup- 
ports. The roofs can be made of furze and 
straw, and under these shelters build your fires, 
and spread your blankets around them. Over 
the graves of your fathers you may dwell in 
safety ; your Mother Church will hold you in 
her arms; and I at the altar will make con- 
tinual intercession for you. Here you must 


2i6 


The Clearance, 


remain until I have another word for you. Be 
patient, it will certainly come. Keep together, 
for to scatter over the country looking for 
work is to become paupers. You must suffer 
together, and together you will be helped.” 

The words were like wine to the dejected 
people, and they flew through the village like fire. 
The fishers left their nets, the young, strong 
women brought straw and whatever might be 
useful, every lad and every lass that could lend 
a helping hand worked willingly ; and against 
the four corners of the church-yard wall — which 
made an excellent shelter on two sides — they 
erected four large booths. Father Matthew 
went from group to group encouraging and 
directing the workers. He sent the mothers to 
the rectory to cook food, he folded the blankets 
about the weary children. All night long the 
fires burned brightly, and the work went bravely 
on, and when the sun rose again, the living had 
found homes among the dwelling-places of the 
dead. 



CHAPTER XII. 

SARA. 

“ Let still the woman take 
An elder than herself ; so wears she to him. 

So sways she level in her husband’s heart.” 

In Tasmer Castle there was a wretchedness 
which no one spoke of, but which every one was 
sensitive to. Donald was kept fully aware of 
every movement by Fergus, but no one could 
have felt more completely helpless to avert or 
even mitigate misfortune, than he did. To 
express sympathy with the people was to con- 
demn his father ; he had nothing else to offer. 
His own position was both humiliating and 
unhappy. After the winter weather set in, he 
could see little of Roberta; his boat was no 
longer a refuge in times of trouble ; he was not , 


2X8 


Sara, 


a sportsman, and when he went to the hills, and 
came home every day with an empty bag, he 
laid himself open to his father’s sarcasms, and 
the disapproval and astonishment of the whole 
household. 

More than once he had asked for his com- 
mission. It would at least give him an 
independent living and enable him to offer a 
home to Roberta if she would accept it. At any 
rate, it would make marriage a possibility. But 
Sir Rolfe heard these requests with an indig- 
nation that seemed unreasonable. 

“Your work is here, sir,” he answered, “ if you 
would do it. You ought to be glad to assist me 
in quadrupling the value of an estate which is to 
be your own. It is a far greater work than 
idling in some foreign station, or dangling after 
women in home barracks. Military life is not 
what it was in my day. Then, a man saw 
service.” 

“ I should like to try it, father. I am of no use 


Sara. 


219 


at home ; I am in the way. I am tired of doing 
nothing.” 

“ Who told you that you were in the way? If 
you are no use, it is your own fault. I cannot 
afford to place you in the army until Sara is 
married. However, that event is likely to occur 
very soon. You will get your troop in a very 
few months, I suppose.” 

Perhaps in his heart Donald was not very 
sorry of the delay. Spring was at hand, summer 
before him, and during the months when it was 
possible to see Roberta, he did not feel much 
regret at being detained in her neighborhood by 
anything having the semblance of duty. 

This conversation occurred a few days before 
the clearance. It is useless to speak of the 
shame and indignation he personally felt in the 
coming tragedy, and at his own total inability 
to oppose or prevent it. For it is the finest and 
most honorable natures that are the easiest 
enslaved by some domineering will — that are 
inapt to resist, harrassed by scruples, astonished 


2 20 


Sara, 


at audacities they have a difficulty in compre- 
hending. Donald would have cheerfully given 
his life for the people, and he could not lift a 
finger to help them. 

During all Whitsunday he walked about the 
castle, restless, miserable, tormented with plans 
which he knew at once were hopeless and 
impracticable. And all day, though sunshine 
filled the rooms, the atmosphere in Tasmer was 
singularly sensitive. Several times Donald had 
the impression that some one had come into the 
room. There were visitings, answers, he knew 
not what intelligences, about him. As the day 
darkened the feeling deepened. He fell into a 
kind of visionary state, in which he seemed to 
lose all voluntary mental and physical power, 
and to be the passive recipient of impressions 
made by spiritual minds. The gloom upon his 
face brightened ; a peace that passeth under- 
standing filled his soul. In about an hour he 
rose up with a long sigh and went instantly to 
his desk and began to write. 


Sara, 


221 


It was a letter to Sara, telling her in strong, 
graphic sentences the trouble that was at Easter- 
Torquil, and begging her to hasten home and 
use her influence with her father, in behalf of the 
homeless peasants. Then he went to Father 
Contach with the letter, for he knew the priest 
was going to Balmacarra in the morning, and 
could see it so far safely on its journey, for a sud- 
den anxiety for Sara’s interference had become 
the prominent idea in his mind. Father Mat- 
thew noticed this, and asked why he had not 
thought of this influence before. 

“ I know not. Father. I supposed from Sara’s 
letters she was too busily employed with her 
own affairs — too happy to be troubled.” 

“ You do your sister an injustice, Donald. I 
never knew Sara Torquil put pleasure before 
charity or duty. Who or what urged you to 
appeal to her to-day ?” 

Then Donald revealed to his friend something 
of the spiritual experience he had just had — 
only something approximating it — for he had no 


222 


Sara, 


words to explain fully a condition transcending 
words. 

“ But, distinctly, as if you had breathed the 
message in my ear, some one said to me, ‘ Write 
to Sara Torquil.’ And I awoke — if I were 
asleep — happy, comforted, assured of help. Can 
you understand me. Father ?” 

“ Thank God, I can understand you, Donald ! 
These infusions of heavenly light and comfort 
that come, we know not how, often when we are 
not looking for them, are blessed proofs of — 
what, think you ?” 

“ I know not.” 

“That we are united to other minds. 
Thoughts come from minds ; they do not move 
about in the air. Good minds are joined thus to 
better minds, and the angels of God ascend and 
descend for our help and counsel. Remember 
what I tell you now, Donald: We are the inhab- 
itants of two worlds. We have senses that open 
to' all the beauties and sorrows of this portion 
of our Father’s mansion, and we have spiritual 


Sara. 


223 


senses that can open to an inner, a higher, a 
holier world. Blessed are they who have ears 
to hear and eyes to see things which are often 
hidden from the wise and recorded to the pure 
in heart.” 

“ Then, Father, if there be good angels ever 
ready to teach and help the good, may there not 
be bad angels ever ready to lead still further 
astray the wicked?” 

“Alas, my son, who can doubt it? 'Whoso- 
ever committeth sin, is the servant of sin.’ To 
a bad man there is constantly a series of sug- 
gestions being made, leading him to be worse. 
He never shows himself as bad as he feels. 
Something is always impelling him to pro- 
founder depths of sin and folly. Something 
worse than himself drags him lower and lower. 
If good angels cannot approach you, be very 
sure evil ones will. Choose, then, in whose 
company and under whose influence you will 
dwell.” 

Then Donald perceived by the father’s still 


224 


Sara, 


face that he had finished the interview ; and 
again commending Sara’s letter to his care, he 
went back to Tasmer with far nobler thoughts 
than he had left it. His soul expanded to its 
lofty and illimitable relationships ; he remem- 
bered “ the cloud of witnesses.” In the enthusi- 
asm of his contemplation, he lifted up his face 
and spread out his hands to the Unseen, and 
again under the solemn sighing branches of the 
firs, realized that he was indeed the inhabitant 
of two worlds. A great resignation and trust 
succeeded to the angry turmoil ot passions 
which had made him wretched for so many 
weeks. He could not understand how his letter 
to Sara was to procure help, but he firmly 
believed it would do so, and was sure, also, that 
he had inspired Father Matthew with the same 
confidence. 

It arrived in London just as Sara had finished 
her preparations for returning home. Her visit 
had been prolonged much beyond its original 
intention. Lady Moidart usually spending the 


Sara. 


225 


Easter holidays on her own estate. There was 
in the house the feeling of outworn pleasure, 
and the anticipation of a change. Trunks 
encumbered the halls, and the tables were 
covered with packages, the last spoils of the 
Regent Street shops. Sara looked at the parcels 
in her own room with a sentiment of sadness 
and regret. It is only the very young and 
thoughtless who are not conscious of some dis- 
satisfaction after foolish and reckless expendi- 
ture. Her last day’s shopping had been 
altogether unnecessary. When Lady Moidart 
had urged her to make out a list of indispensable 
toilet adjuncts to take north with her, she had 
made such a list, and felt in the making of it that 
every item might be wanted at Tasmer, and 
could not be procured. But the possession of so 
many ribbons and gloves and scarfs was not half 
so satisfying as she had anticipated. They 
looked upon the whole a very paltry exchange 
for thirty sovereigns, and she admitted the fact 
to herself. 


226 


Sara. 


“ I ought not to have spent the money. 
Father told me how hard it was to spare it, and 
poor Donald would have thought himself rich 
with thirty sovereigns.” 

She looked at the offending parcels with an 
air of aversion and vexation, and at that moment 
she received Donald’s letter. She read it 
slowly, and then stood up to read it again. It 
was as if she had not been sure of her intelli- 
gence while in an attitude of inattention ; as if, 
in the act of standing up, she gathered her 
faculties together. Father Matthew had under- 
stood her well, for, as she slowly but fully real- 
ized the condition of affairs Donald had painted 
in such vehement words, her countenance 
changed, she let her hands fall down, and stood 
pale and motionless for some minutes, just 
where the sorrowful news had found her. 

She was not a woman apt to act upon impulse. 
She had discovered, when very young, that 
impulse is a bad guide ; and, though she had 
never heard of Euripides, she had arrived at his 


Sara. 


227 


conclusion : ‘‘ among mortals second thoughts 
are best.” So she took no particular heed of the 
suggestion following immediately upon her first 
sensations of shame, anger and pity. Until her 
maid came to dress her for dinner, she thought of 
the situation. Donald had not asked her for any 
help, except her influence with Sir Rolfe. He 
had expected no other help from her ; but there 
was a feeling of “ needs do ” in her own soul, 
and she knew she would not escape from its 
strait until she had made an effort — an effort she 
was already dimly conscious of, and which she 
was waiting for events to set clearly before her. 

“You are very tired, Sara,” said Lady 
Moidart. “ After the dance, the sleep. After 
London, Tasmer. I think you are ready for the 
change.” 

“ I am very unhappy, aunt !” Then she 
opened Donald’s letter and read it aloud. The 
old lady showed her resentment much more 
vividly than Sara had done. 

“ It is an unspeakable outrage,” she said, pas- 


228 


Sara. 


sionately. “ I have thought ill of your father all 
his days, but never that he would do so ill a 
thing. Has the man lost all conscience, all 
family pride and honor? He does not know 
what he is undertaking. Only certain natures — 
born money-grabbers — can make such wholesale 
cruelty pay them. Sir Rolfe is a soldier with 
some fine instincts left, which will perpetually 
interfere — such as sacrificing fifty pounds. Why 
should he give any of the price of these poor 
souls back? If he is going to take service with 
the devil, then, in common-sense, let him keep 
all the devil’s wages. He must have a poor 
conscience if he can bribe it for fifty pounds.” 

‘ Hush ! dear aunt ! Father is not much to 
blame ; he is completely under the influence of 
Simon Lovat.” 

“ That is no excuse, Sara. He need not be 
under his influence. Lovat is not a malignant 
contagion in the air which cannot be escaped ; 
he is a poison which men deliberately lift and 
drink — yes, and hold in their hands and hesitate 


Sara. 


229 


and think over. Lord Lenox is another exam- 
ple of his influence. Before he inherited the 
Lenox lordship, when he had no hope of inher- 
iting- it, when he was only a captain in the 
Seaforth Highlanders, he was as pleasant and 
good-hearted a young fellow as I ever knew. 
1 liked him. I helped him many a time. But 
how he has changed ! The first clearance cost 
him some hours of indecision and regret ; the 
second, not a thought. I have been truly told 
that the last of the crofters on his estate were 
removed under circumstances of the most 
unnecessary cruelty. 1 used to think him affec- 
tionate and honorable. I was mistaken. He is 
nothing at all now, if he is not unscrupulous 
and greedy of gold. 1 have no doubt he will 
succeed in his plans. He will have no misgiv- 
ings and no relentings. In a few years his 
estate will be highly productive, and in the 
meantime he will marry Maria Crossley, whose 
father made her a million by brewing beer. 
But Sir Rolfe is too old to so completely 


230 


Sara. 


change his nature. There will be a few old mil- 
itary and gentlemanly scruples he cannot con- 
quer: his whole policy will be weakened by 
them. He will commit small business indiscre- 
tions that will ruin him.” 

“ If you could only talk to him, aunt !” 

I ! child ; he would not listen to me if I told 
how to save his life. And if you are dreaming 
of influencing him, dismiss all such false hopes. 
If Rolfe Torquil has made up his mind to carry 
out the clearance policy on the Tasmer estate, 
an angel from Heaven could not reason with 
him.” 

“ My father is truly religious, aunt.” 

“ I know it. There is a puzzle, a contradic- 
tion, in most characters, that none but God 
Almighty understands. How Sir Rolfe recon- 
ciles his injustice to his people with the ten 
commandments and the golden rule is beyond 
my comprehension ; but I have not the slightest 
doubt that he has done so.” 

Nothing more was said upon the subject, but 


Sara, 


231 


Sara had plenty of matter for thought. It was 
the first time Lady Moidart had expressed any 
opinion about Lord Lenox. Sara had under- 
stood from him that the friendship between 
them was of the kindest and most confidential 
character, and she had wondered at their slight 
intercourse and interest concerning each other. 
She understood the change now ; she under- 
stood Lady MoidarLs fixed politeness and appar- 
ent carelessness as to his future. Much that 
had pained and perplexed her was now clear. 

She never doubted a word her aunt had said. 
Lady Moidart had faults, but she did not lie. 
She was honorable even to an enemy. All she 
had said of Lenox might be taken without excep- 
tions. No woman likes to be disenchanted. Even 
when the process goes on with intermissions of 
hope, it is a painful process, but Sara had come 
to the last hour of her illusion. She had often 
wavered in her opinion, she had suffered and for- 
given, she had been as blind as those who will 
not see, she had gone through all the hopes and 


232 


Sara, 


despairs and self-humiliations of love’s fitful 
fever. At that hour she felt no pity for herself 
and no love for Lenox ; she was only sorry for 
the hours and the emotions wasted upon so 
unworthy an object. Something in my own 
nature must be akin to him, or I should not have 
loved him,” she thought, and she was ashamed 
under the self-condemnation. Still the renuncia- 
tion was not completed without suffering. A 
first love, however unworthy, strikes its roots 
deep into the affections. Sara had a bad night, 
and in the morning, while the house was all in 
confusion with the packing, she put on her cloak 
and bonnet and went out. 

Lady Moidart watched her a few moments, 
and concluded she was going to walk in the 
private park attached to the fashionable square 
in which they lived. But Sara went further 
than the park — went through many a busy 
street, until she turned into a silent court off a 
great thoroughfare, and found at the head of it 
the quiet church she wanted. How strange was 


Sara. 


233 


its dimness and silence in the very heart of Lon- 
don’s tide of life and turmoil. She glided into a 
seat, in order to recover her thoughts and com- 
posure befere she ventured to offer her petition ; 
and it was not many moments ere she felt the 
soothing influence of the place. 

A priest, in the white serge robes of the 
Brotherhood of St. Dominic, knelt motionless on 
the steps of the altar. There were a number of 
people in the church, all of them so engrossed 
with their own devotions that they knew not of 
her advent. One young man, evidently from 
the highest social ranks, was making the solemn 
way of the cross. He was in a rapture of medi- 
tation at the foot of the crucifix at the twelfth 
station. His hands were uplifted and clasped ; 
his face raised and wet with tears. To him Cal- 
vary and the Christ upon it were as real facts as 
his own existence. Not far from him, a poor 
woman was whispering a heartful of grief into 
Mary’s ear. Like Hannah of old, “ she was in 
bitterness of soul, and she wept sore.” The aged 


234 


Sara, 


and the young, the rich and the poor were 
there, each with their own sorrow, or hope, or 
anxiety, and the holy silence was broken by no 
sound but the sighing of the suppliant, or the 
murmured prayers at the altars or the stations. 

In holy meditation, in earnest supplications, 
Sara spent her morning. She had much to give 
thanks for ; she had counsel to inquire after ; 
she had help to seek. She was surrounded by 
other implorers, but she was alone with God. 
The visit she had expected with so much youth- 
ful eagerness, was over. She had tried the 
world at its very best, tasted of all its pleasures, 
and she acknowledged to her soul, that morning, 
that a day in God’s house was better than a 
thousand elsewhere. 

She had gone into that house full of trouble 
and anxiety ; she came away from it with a 
heart at rest. There she had left all her worry- 
ing hopes and desires about Lenox. There she 
had prayed for his soul’s welfare and forever 
resigned all personal affection for him. In the 


Sara, 


235 


afternoon she expected Mr. Maclane. He had 
written to request an hour's private interview 
with her, and she understood quite well the 
question she would have to answer. He would 
ask her again to be his wife, and she had 
resolved to accept him. Hence her solemn 
renunciation of Lord Lenox. In the future, 
every thought of her heart must be for the man 
whose wife she had determined to be. 

She had nO/ misgivings ; she had put the last 
one away. she were not in love, she had an 
affection and respect for him which she did not 
fear to trust. She honored him, for he deserved 
honor. She was proud of his political position, 
proud of his talents, and not indifferent to his 
great wealth. All her life long she had known 
the misery that comes from the want of money. 
She had reproached herself throughout the 
winter because of Donald’s position ; but if Mr. 
Maclane made upon her the settlement he pro- 
posed, she would have gold enough to realize 
every good intent, every loving desire. Her 


236 


Sara. 


union with him could make so many others 
happy beside herself. And, surely, she thought 
a marriage of that kind must be better than one 
which gratified only a single selfish love. 





CHAPTER XIII. 

THE MINISTER CALLS ON THE BARON. 

** Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, 

More hideous when thou showest thee in a child 
Than the sea-monster !” 

“ Never anger 

Made good guard for itself.” 

The temporary settlement of the expelled 
crofters of Easter-Torquil in the church-yard of 
Torquil was a matter of very serious annoyance 
to Sir Rolfe ; but he did not feel as if he dared to 
clash opinions with Father Matthew about it. 
He knew that he had no legal right to urge 
their removal from it, and he was not anxious to 
enter into the moral right of the question in any 
shape. Yet nothing could have happened so 


238 The Minister Calls on the Baron. 


entirely shocking to his deepest prejudices, and 
so really uncomfortable to his conscience. It 
was as if the wronged Torquils had appealed 
from their living to their dead. He woke up 
from his sleep with an uncanny feeling of the 
great clan behind him being moved to wrath by 
such an invasion of their territory. He could 
barely reassure himself by considering that the 
chiefs of the family would be sure to understand 
and approve his motives. Had any of them in 
their raids on their neighbors, or in their fights 
with the Macdonalds, ever valued the lives of 
the men they led? No. They had sacrificed 
everything for the honor and perpetuity of their 
sept; and he was only doing the same thing 
according to the methods of the age in which 
he lived. 

Yet there was some troubled spiritual element 
in the castle. Heavy footfalls were heard by 
all, and voices as deep as the sound of multi- 
tudes in one, and low, mournful sighs thrilling 
an atmosphere sensitive as life, and which to the 


The Mmister Calls on the Baron. 239 


painfully attent ear seemed stirred by shadowy 
wings. Doors that had closed for generations 
were found open. One midnight, the great 
shield of Fergus Torquil, first Earl of Ross, fell 
to the ground with a ringing thud that woke 
every one in the castle with a feeling of terror. 
Donald, who had a temperament peculiarly 
responsive to any spiritual influence, lived dur- 
ing these days with one foot in the other world. 
And his confessor was too wise and holy a man 
to make light of any ascendancy because it was 
beyond mortal understanding and analysis. 

“ God has nowhere said He would not send 
spirits to warn men ; and Christ by implication 
taught that they did so when He said : ‘ Though 
one came from the dead,’ some would not listen.” 

“ But surely, dear Father, angels fit for the 
perpetual adoration of Heaven will not soil white 
souls with the sins and sorrows of earth?” 

Service is adoration. Are they not all min- 
istering spirits? Angels are good men made 
perfect. It is in this way the holy Scriptures 


240 The Minister Calls on the Baron. 


speak of them. In this way, also, the fathers and 
saints regarded them. The first angels men- 
tioned in the Bible, those which appeared to 
Abraham, are called ‘three men.’ The angels 
that appeared to Lot are called ‘ two men.’ 
When Manoah said to the angel who appeared 
to him, ‘ Art thou the man that speaketh unto 
the woman ?’ he said, ‘ I am.’ The angel that 
appeared to St. John forbade John to worship 
him, saying, ‘ See thou do it not. I am thy fel- 
low-servant and of thy brethren that have the 
testimony of Jesus.’ If the angels are good men 
made perfect, who are more fit to minister unto 
men, to warn them against sin, and guide them 
in sorrow ? But as the same laws operate on 
the good and on the evil, may not wicked and 
undeterminate spirits still linger between two 
worlds, troubled by the things of earth which 
still hold them in dominion ? In that inter- 
mediate world which the Church calls purgatory- 
— the place of judgment — may not a part of the 
soul’s punishment depend upon its knowledge oi 


The Minister Calls on the Baron. 241 


what still goes on among the things of which it 
made idols? For instance, if the man who 
served gold instead of God, can see the gold for 
which he sinned against his soul, squandered and 
wasted, or in the hands of those whom he 
wronged or hated, how great and how fitting 
must be his remorse ! 

“ And if those old Torquils who committed all 
kinds of outrages, and shed blood without stint 
to increase the number and power of their clan, 
can now see its chief scattering and wronging it, 
counting sheep and red deer as of more value 
than their descendants, no wonder they are 
moved and troubled even beyond the grave. It 
is not forbidden us to think of these things if we 
do it reverently.” 

“ Oh, Father ! How good is God that He 
permits to sinful men a place of repentance and 
of expiation. If it were not so — if men went at 
once to Heaven or hell — ” 

“ In such case, my son, men must be thor- 
oughly heavenly or thoroughly infernal before 


242 The Minister Calls on the Baron, 


death. Very few mortals are either. Heaven 
and hell are not next-door neighbors. Christ 
taught us that between the two there is a great 
gulf — the state or place of judgment. It can do 
you no harm to live as if surrounded by those 
whom you will meet in the eternal world. Even 
from a good supposition you may derive good.” 

This conversation occurred nearly a week 
after Donald’s letter had been sent to Sara. 
Father Matthew had supplemented it with a few 
lines from his own hand, and the answer arrived 
just as Donald was rising to leave. The good 
priest’s face brightened as if it had caught sun- 
shine, and as he read the letter aloud to Donald 
his eyes shone with the glad soul behind them : 

Beloved and Respected Father: In reply to your 
request, I say this — keep the people together. I shall be 
home in a very short time, and I am sure that I shall bring 
help. Lady Moidart incloses ten pounds to buy meal for 
them. Pray for me, dear Father, for I am about to take 
steps on a new road. Pray, then, for your dear child in 
Christ. Sara Torquil.” 

“ It is good news. Father. I felt sure it would 


The Minister Calls on the Baron. 243 


come. Also, I think there will be a letter for 
me, and so 1 will hasten home.” 

Donald was not disappointed, and Sara had 
been much more explicit to him than to Father 
Matthew. 

“ I am going to marry Andrew Maclane, dear brother,” she 
said. “ I am going to marry him because I love and respect 
him ; because he will make me happy ; because I am sure he 
will be a good brother to you, and because I am sure I shall 
never be sorry or ashamed for the step I am going to take. 
I may not love him as Juliet loved Romeo, but I have a noble 
and sensible regard for my intended husband. We shall be 
true husband and wife, true friends, true companions, true 
workers together in everything that we believe to be right 
and good. I intend to take his advice, and ask his help 
about the Torquils. I shall do it at once. He will under- 
stand how best they can be provided for, without hurting our 
father's prejudices and his pride. We must remember that 
any help to them is interference with his affairs, and respect 
his feelings. I should think Father Matthew the best vehicle 
for assistance, but Andrew Maclane will know just what 
ought to be done, I am sure. Because I put him first in this 
matter do not think that any one can ever take your share of 
my love. My brother ! My dear brother ! In your place you 
will always reign supreme in Sara’s heart.” 

With an affectionate pride, he slowly refolded 


244 Minister Calls on the Baron, 


the comforting letter. To be loved so fondly by 
two such women as Sara Torquil and Roberta 
Balfour was surely a great blessing. 

He turned to the window and looked over the 
sea. It was brightly blue, and dimpling all over 
in the sunshine. His boat lay rocking at anchor, 
and the temptation to set her free and go flying 
before ^he wind was too great to be resisted. 
Yet, though his father sought neither advice nor 
sympathy from him, he knew that he was sick 
and troubled, and he did not wish to leave Tas- 
mer if there were any prospect of rendering aid 
to him. Sir Rolfe politely declined his society. 

There is nothing you can do. Factor 
Frazer,'* he said, bitterly, will attend to such 
affairs as are urgent. By all means, go to sea, if 
you wish to go. The servants assert the castle 
to be a very undesirable human habitation. I 
suppose their terrors have affected you. Have 
you heard from Sara?” 

‘‘ Yes, sir. I had a letter this afternoon.” 


The Minister Calls on the Baron. 245 


Did she tell you of her approaching mar- 
riage with Mr. Maclane?” 

“ She did, sir.’' 

“ Do you approve of it !” 

“ I do, sir ; very much.” 

“ That is satisfactory. I had begun to think it 
was impossible to please you.” 

“ If I could please you, sir, that would make 
me happier than any other event.” 

Something in the young man’s face and voice 
touched his father. He answered more kindly : 

“ It is hard, Donald, for age and youth to think 
alike. In a few years you will remember your 
attitude at this time with regret. You will wish 
you had stood at your father’s side and helped 
to bear a burden almost too much for him to 
bear alone. Go away for a few days. Times of 
change are always painful. When Sara is mar- 
ried, I will talk with you about your future. 
All shall be done for your welfare that is possible.” 

He spoke so sadly, and yet so kindly, that 
Donald ventured to offer his hand. Sir Rolfe 


246 The Minister Calls on the Baron, 


held it a moment, and ere he turned again to his 
papers, wished him a pleasant sail ; adding : 

“ By the way, if you should go northward try 
to find out something about that Melvich. I am 
not going to submit to his encroachments. He 
says I have no legal right in the waters we have 
fished for a thousand years. Legal right, 
indeed ! Use and wont have some rights, too, I 
suppose!” 

And Donald, wondering that he could not see 
the same law applied to the ejected crofters, 
went to his boat with the sense of a bird set free, 
and took her out of harbor. It was near the 
gloaming; the breeze was light and the sea 
rising and falling with a lazy send. 

Just outside the harbor he met a boat making 
for it. She was not a fishing-boat, and she had 
a familiar look. He wondered a little where 
he had seen her before ; but he never suspected 
that it was an Ellerloch smack having Mr. Bal- 
four on board. She came to land easily, the 
anchor chain flew out, and the minister landed 


The Minister Calls on the Baron. 247 


and stood for a moment looking around him. 
He had the air of a man bent upon some special 
errand ; his face was somber and set, his move- 
ments without hurry and without hesitation. 
He stopped two fishers and asked them the way 
to Sir Rolfe Torquil’s house, and they looked 
queerly at him, and said : 

“ The castle wass on the hill-top whateffer,’' 
and then noticing his clerical dress, they removed 
their caps and added : It iss through the fir- 

woodt you will haf to go, sir, and, maype, it iss 
Father Matthew you will pe seeing first.’' 

“ Who is Father Matthew ?” 

Father Matthew Contach ! He iss the 
priest, praise God, and he is a goot man, mir- 
over. In the churchyard you will pe seeing him 
now, if you will pe going there.” 

Then they left him, and Mr. Balfour went 
toward the church, which was a notable land- 
mark in the place. The scene in the church- 
yard instantly arrested him. It was near the 
hour for the last meal of the day. The fires 


248 The Minister Calls on the Baron. 


under the booths were burning brightly, the 
women were busy about the boiling kettles, the 
men were spreadijig pallets of bracken and 
blankets, and the priest, easily distinguished both 
by his habit and his air of authority, was stand- 
ing among a group evidently explaining some- 
thing to them. 

Two women carrying fish and milk passed, and 
he stopped them and asked the meaning of such 
a singular sight. They told the story of the 
clearance of Easter-Torquil, and he was amazed 
at their patience. When he expressed his opin- 
ion of Sir Rolfe Torquil, one of them, with a 
movement of disapprobation and pride, said : 

“You will pe a stranger, sir; there iss no 
stranger that can pe knowing the Torquil. It 
will not pe hiss fault whateffer ; there wass bat 
men at hiss side, and they did make him do 
what wass not in hiss heart. It iss bat men. It 
iss not the Torquil whateffer.’’ 

That was not Mr. Balfour’s opinion. He had 
a feeling of satisfaction in discovering that these 


The Minister Calls on the Baron, 249 


Torquils were as bad as he had decided they 
were. He was not aware of this unworthy sat- 
isfaction, for he was too much exercised about 
other matters to enter into any form of self- 
examination, so he again and again assured 
himself : 

“ He is a bad man, a heartless and unjust man. 
No wonder he has a false and selfish son. 1 will 
not spare him a word of the truth, not I !” 

To such thoughts he walked rapidly up to 
Tasmer, and reached it just as Fergus was light- 
ing the great hall. He gave him his card with 
the information that he wished to see Sir Rolfe 
without delay. In his way, Balfour was as much 
a man of authority as Sir Rolfe himself. Fergus 
looked at him with respect and curiosity. A 
Free-Kirk minister was not a familiar sight to 
him, but he quickly decided that the visitor was 
an ecclesiastic of some order, and he gave him 
the low obedience and the reverential speech 
which he kept entirely for powers spiritual. 

To Sir Rolfe the sight of the card was a pleas- 


250 The Minister Calls on the Baron. 


ant interruption to his own unhappy brooding. 
He was in hopes that it introduced some of the 
neighboring Highland gentlemen, with whom he 
could discuss the clearance policy, and by so 
doing re-assure his own mind. The ‘‘ Rev. 
David Balfour ” puzzled him. Catholic ecclesi- 
astics were not accustomed to carry visiting- 
cards in their vestments, and he knew none of 
the Protestant clergy in the vicinity. But he 
was inclined for company, and not averse to 
gather opinions from all sources upon the one 
question which interested him. 

So, as Mr. Balfour entered the room, he rose 
with blended dignitv and courtesy, directing 
Fergus by a glance to place a chair near himself 
for Mr. Balfour’s use. He did not take it, but 
remained standing, with one hand firmly grasp- 
ing the back. 

^‘To what circumstance am 1 obliged for the 
honor of your visit, sir ?” 

If there be any honor in the visit, sir, it 
belongs to my office. I am but one mortal 


The Mmister Calls on the Baron. 251 


seeking speech with another mortal — very 
unhappily so, for your son has done me and 
mine a great wrong, and I come to ask you to 
restrain him in its commission.” 

“ I am grieved and amazed at what you say. 
I can scarcely credit such an accusation without 
particulars.” 

“ I blame you not for that. I will give you the 
particulars. Last autumn, I met Donald Torquil 
at sea in some danger. I helped him clear away 
his wreckage, and brought his boat into Ellerloch 
Bay. There was every appearance of a stormy 
night. I offered him the shelter of my home. 
He came again, and again, and again. I have a 
daughter, a beautiful girl of eighteen. I need 
not tell you what he came for. He has out- 
raged my hospitality in the most cruel way.” 

“ Then, sir, though he be my only son, I say 
he is a scoundrel ; and he shall right the girl he 
has wronged, or see my face no more.” 

“You are Agoing too far, sir. I think my 
Roberta pure beyond the breath of suspicion ; 


252 The Minister Calls on the Baron, 


but he has won her love, weaned her heart from 
her own life and all its simple duties. He has 
interfered between our affection, broken our 
confidence in each other, and made a happy 
home full of doubts and anxieties and restless- 
ness. She is all I have. He has stolen her 
from me.” 

Oh, this is a different thing, Mr. Balfour. 
Donald has acted imprudently, but I think your 
accusation of outraging your hospitality quite 
too far-fetched — indeed, very unjust. The Tor- 
quils are honorable men. When my son is 
absent I must defend his honor for him.” 

“What the Torquils have been, I know not. 
The present Torquils are not honorable men. 
Your son, the first night of our acquaintance, 
was well aware a marriage with my daughter 
was out of all consideration. Yet he did not 
scruple to seek her affections, though he knew 
well that I never would permit her to be his 
wife.” 

“ It seems to me, Mr. Balfour, that you were 


The Minister Calls on the Baron, 253 


as dishonorable as my son. If he knew a mar- 
riage with your daughter was impossible, you 
must have known it also. Why did you allow 
him to come again and again V 
“ Because I knew not who he was.” 

Did he visit you under a false name.^” 

“ He told me truly that his name was Donald 
Torquil, and that he lived sixty miles or more to 
the southward, in the Kintail district. But 
what did that signify? I knew no more of the 
Torquils than I did of the hundreds of other 
gentlemen in Ross. I saw only a tall, well-made 
youth, with a bright face, reddish hair and win- 
ning manners. I am a Free-Kirk minister. 
When I read the Scriptures and worshiped with 
my family, he joined in the worship without 
protest or remark. I supposed him to be a 
Protestant. He deceived me at the very first 
concerning the most sacred of all subjects, 
between God and man, or man and man.” 

Sir, you confess yourself to be an exceeding 


254 'The Minister Calls on the Baron, 


bigot. My son behaved only with the toleration 
of a Christian and a gentleman.” 

If it had been only for that once, yes. I 
would then never have come here with a com- 
plaint. He was a traitor to his faith, and to his 
host, over, and over, week after week, month 
after month, until his object was accomplished ; 
until my child’s life had been made miserable, 
and the joy and content of my own home des- 
troyed. For the Torquils, being who and what 
they are, I would pray God to slay my Roberta 
ere she became one of them.” 

“ The Torquils are gentlemen or their head 
had not borne so patiently your unwarranted 
abuse of them in their own castle. It strikes me 
that it is I and not you who ought to complain 
in this matter. Whatever may be your opinion 
of yourself and your office, I can assure you, sir, 
that Donald Torquil would commit an unpar- 
donable offense against his house and his order 
and his religion if he married Miss Balfour. I 
for one, would never speak to him again. I 


The Minister Calls on the Baron. 255 


should never recognize the young woman as my 
daughter. She would gain nothing socially, as 
long as I lived, from the marriage.” 

“ You could give her nothing socially. The 
Balfours have a spotless name in Scotland’s his- 
tory. They will never unite it with one against 
which tyranny, idolatry, rapine, injustice and 
cruelty are written.” 

‘^Sir! You go too far — much too far! Sir, 
you will make me forget — ” and Sir Rolfe rose 
hastily and stood glaring at his accuser. He 
was white with rage, quivering in every limb, 
but making supreme efforts to control his pas- 
sion. 

Jacobites! Papists! Robbers of the poor, 
because they are poor. I will not have my child 
made a partaker of the curse that will be your 
inheritance.” 

Balfour’s face was stern, almost fierce, but he 
spoke with an even, slow intensity, which was 
unendurable to the nervous, passionate man 
before him. His answer was a torrent of con- 


256 The Minister Calls on the Baron. 


temptuous reproach and accusation ; and his 
vehement speech brought Fergus — uncalled — 
into the room. The intrusion was most fortu- 
nate. Sir Rolfe’s hand had gone more than 
once to the spot on which his sword had been 
wont to hang. His whole attitude was that of a 
man on the point of flinging himself upon his 
enemy. 

But when Fergus came in he looked with a 
grateful relief toward him and gasped out : 

“ Show that man — to — the door, Fergus!” 

Then, with a low, inarticulate cry, he threw 
open the oratory, fell at the foot of the cross 
and clasped the pierced feet of the Christ in his 
hands with sobs and ejaculations : 

I detest my sins, O Lord ! . . . I seek 
refuge in Thy Mercy ! . . . I have sinned 

exceedingly — through my fault ! Through my 
fault! Through my most grievous fault !” 

This act, so unexpected, so amazing, com- 
pletely silenced and subdued the minister. The 
living, palpable faith of the Catholic, which 


The Minister Calls on the Baron, 257 


makes his private religion a thing supreme at all 
hours — a thing of which he never feels ashamed 
— humbled the angry man. In his own church, 
in his own household, he prayed readily before 
all ; but he would have been abashed and 
troubled if Roberta even had seen him at his 
private devotions. The simple unconsciousness 
of the spiritual distress he witnessed overcame 
his anger. He went out of the room like a chid- 
den child. 

Fergus followed him down-stairs with dislike 
and fear, and when they reached the hall he set 
the door wide open for him. At its threshold 
David Balfour stood a moment, and then said : 

“ Tell Sir Rolfe Torquil that I regret the pas- 
sionate words I spoke ; ill words may be true 
words, but it is better not to give them way.” 

“ There will pe ncf ill wordts that will pe true 
wordts of the Torquil whateffer — no inteet, praise 
God ! And the ill-speaker will pe taking the ill 
wordts with him, mirover. Yes, and the door 
'will pe shut upon them.” 


258 The minister Calls on the Baron, 

And then the great doors of Tasmer clashed 
together with a clamor that set the old spears 
and shields rattling on the walls, and sent Fergus 
at a rapid pace to the lighted kitchen, feeling as 
if an army of dead Torquils were gathering 
behind him. 






CHAPTER XIV. 

SARA’S REQUEST. 

Heart with heart, and hand in hand, 

Go upon.your way ; 

Pleasant is the promised land 
You’re entering to-day. 

Corn it has and wine. 

Field for work and play. 

On it love divine 
Sheds benignant ray." 

The statues, the ornaments and the fine fur- 
niture of Lady Moidart’s drawing-room were 
all packed away, or carefully shrouded in linen ; 
as were also the great crystal chandeliers ; but 
upon a table lit by temporary hand-lamps, there 
were spread out gems of wonderful beauty and 
great price ; diamonds and sapphires and pearls 
of purest tint. Sara Torquil and Andrew 


26 o 


Saras Request, 


Maclane stood looking at them. Her hand was 
clasped in his ; she leaned her beautiful head 
against his shoulder; the light of perfectly 
happy, trustful affection was on both faces. 

Choose which you prefer, dearest, and give 
me one more pleasure.” 

The blue sapphires, the sparkling diamonds, 
the moonlight pearls, all are lovely, Andrew ; 
but — ” and she lifted the string of oriental pearls 
and looked at them with a wistful admiration. 

But what, Sara ?” 

I want a richer betrothal gift than any of 
these.” 

No shadow darkened his face ; the moment 
she had spoken the words he comprehended that 
he should approve them, whatever their meaning. 

It is not gems you want ; then what is it, 
love?” 

Then she told him of all the sorrow there Avas 
at Torquil, and of Donald’s and Father Mat- 
thews’s letters, and before she had finished 


Saras Request, 


26 


speaking, his clear mind had foreseen her request 
and granted it. 

You wish me to give the money which we 
were going to spend on jewels to make new 
homes for these homeless peasants? That is 
your desire, Sara?" 

“ That is my desire, dear Andrew." 

But I can do both — do both easily ; and I 
shall be glad to do both. Most of them, you say, 
are Torquils. Any one bearing your name has 
a claim upon me. I could not see a Torquil 
homeless, and not help him." 

“ But I also want a share in this pleasure. I 
want to offer these lovely pearls to Divine mercy 
and charity — to make a thank-offering of them, 
and so bring God's smile upon our marriage." 

He drew her closer and kissed her solemnly. 
He made no further objection. He did not ask 
her once more to accept them. The confidential 
clerk, who had brought them in a guarded cab, 
received them all again, and they sat down 


262 


Saras Request. 


together to talk more fully over the good work 
they had undertaken. 

Sara was enthusiastic in it ; Maclane was 
enthusiastic in giving her pleasure, but he did 
not disguise the fact that he was only partially on 
the side of the crofter. 

I feel very sorry for Sir Rolfe,’* he said, 
and this matter must be entirely managed by 
Father Contach. Even Donald ought not to 
seem by interference to imply disapproval of Sir 
Rolfe’s plans. For, indeed, Sara, there are very 
few Englishmen who would blame him. If it 
were necessary for my solvency to shut my 
works and mills, I am sure I should do so. 
Upward of two thousand people might be made 
homeless by the act, and I should deeply regret 
it, but I should still think it was my duty to save 
my credit and my estate. In another way, this 
is your father’s position. There is a romantic 
sentiment, a historical tie behind it, which makes 
the position harder for both ; but upon the whole, 
Sara, my sympathies are mostly with Sir Rolfe.” 


Sara's Request. 


263 


You think the people wrong ?” 

“ No, I do not. This is a case in which Sir 
Rolfe is right and the people not wrong. The 
situation is altogether out of tune with the time. 
And the moral effect upon Sir Rolfe is far 
more trying than it is on the peasant ; for when 
a man is called cruel and unjust, it is difficult for 
him not to become so. However, dear Sara, how 
can we ask a blessing upon our own home better 
than by giving homes to those who are homeless 
— ‘ the blessing of those ready to perish ’ is not to 
be despised.” 

This conversation indicates very well the one 
which followed it with Father Matthew. Mr. 
Maclane was anxious to be unknown in the mat- 
ter ; but it was his money which brought the ship 
into Torquil harbor, which provided all neces- 
saries for a comfortable voyage to North Caro- 
lina, which placed in the hand of every provider 
a sum sufficient to lift care from their hearts and 
to give them courage to face the future. 

Sir Rolfe had no anger toward the outcasts. 


264 Sara's Request. 

and they had very speedily forgiven him. After 
all he was the Torquil. The feudal feeling still 
lingered in the hearts. Most of the men went up 
to Tasmer to shake his hand ; not a few of the 
elder ones wept as they affectionately bowed 
their lips to it. Sir Rolfe felt his own eyes grow 
dim, for the mysterious power in the tie of blood 
is not to be put away ; and when old Hector 
Torquil sobbed out: “ My chief, my chief, fare- 
well !” he took his gold snuff-box and put it into 
his hand, saying : 

It has my name and crest upon it. Hector. 
You are the oldest living Torquil ; you must be 
the leader of the people in the new land. Let 
them do nothing to shame the name. We part 
now. We shall meet again — beyond the grave.” 

Maclane was present at this interview, and he 
watched the scene with many complex feelings. 
In spite of his great age. Hector was a fine old 
man, with the erect, up-head carriage of an old 
soldier. When he had gone away. Sir Rolfe said : 

“ He was a grand man with a bayonet. I saw 


Sara's Request, 


265 


him in ten engagements. He was fort)’ years in 
the army. Ross used to be the great recruiting 
ground. When I got my commission, I was 
followed by sixty strapping fellows from these 
very hills. No one will now take the queen’s 
shilling. Their military spirit is dead.” 

“ I do not wonder at it, Sir Rolfe. Hector 
Torquil, you say, fought the battles of his 
country for forty years ; and at the end, what 
has he for his patriotism ? A tent in the church- 
yard, or exile to America. The feudal feeling 
that made sixty strapping fellows follow you to 
the army is nearly destroyed ; and beside, these 
people feel themselves to have been unjustly and 
cruelly treated. They may be wrong, or they 
may be right, but the feeling exists ; and wher- 
ever it does exist, it kills enthusiasm on any 
other subject. I am not blaming you for it. Sir 
Rolfe — not in the least. Your order have deter- 
mined upon a certain course for their own pre- 
servation ; you must go with them, or go to ruin.” 

“ It is the truth.” 



CHAPTER XV. 
tasmer’s summer. 

It was a great relief when the ship, with the 
little colony on board her, sailed. She went in 
the night ; went so silently that very few knew 
when she lifted her anchor. Father Matthew 
had heard their solemn confession, and said 
prayers for their safety before they embarked. 
He had gone on board in the evening, and gath- 
ered them on deck, and read the vesper service, 
and sung a hymn with them, and given all his 
blessing. They knew not, however, that they 
would see his face no more. If there were such 
a thought in any heart, no one liked to whisper 
it ; and their last memory of him was brightened 
by the smile with which he lifted his face to the 


Tasmers Summer. 


267 


ship from the small boat carrying him back to 
the shore. 

Donald took a more active interest in the 
event than Sir Rolfe. He was in many respects 
Father Matthews’s right hand concerning the 
innumerable details of so large an immigration. 
A feeling of great kindness and of sympathy, 
unspoken but understood, was between the 
clan and himself, and their parting was not 
embittered by any misunderstanding or wrong 
judgment of each other. In the farewell service 
on board, Donald joined them. Their last act 
had been to pray together and to clasp each 
other’s hands. In the morning, when he looked 
over the bay, the ship was gone, the people had 
vanished from sight forever. He was thankful 
that the separation had been made at last so 
kindly ; so much better than he had dared to 
think it would be. 

It gave him courage to hope that his own 
immediate affairs would be settled for him as 
favorably ; though where Roberta was con- 


268 


Tasmers Summer. 


cerned, the whole horizon seemed dark to him. 
His last interview with her had been during 
Mr. Balfour’s visit to Sir Rolfe Torquil. 
Roberta suspected the motive of her father’s 
journey ; and Donald remembered the strange 
yet familiar craft he had passed at the entrance 
to Torquil Harbor. To the lovers, it was evi- 
dent Mr. Balfour intended to secure Sir Rolfe’s 
co-operation in order to finally separate them. 
They were carried away with love and sorrow. 
They vowed to stand by each other unto death. 

Under such circumstances their love assumed 
an exaggerated importance. Being the one end 
and aim of their own lives, they fell into the 
error of imagining that it was equally momen- 
tous to every one else. There is a luxury of 
grief which love frequently delights in. Donald 
and Roberta, who found the world in each 
other, found, also, some strange, sorrowful satis- 
faction in believing the whole world was against 
them. Donald spent nearl}^ two days at Eller- 
loch, and during this time won a promise from 


Tasmer's Summer, 


269 


Roberta to marry him so soon as he got his 
commission. 

The thought of military life was not unpleas- 
ant to her. After the stillness of Ellerloch, its 
stir and change filled her with pleasant anticipa- 
tions. She knew that her father was expecting 
a call from a church in the vicinity of Edinburg, 
and she believed that he had sought it for the 
express purpose of separating her from Donald. 
If she did leave him, he would have once more 
the society and friendship of the scholars and 
divines whom he loved and honored. She did 
not doubt but he would forgive her, as soon as 
he realized she had taken an irrevocable step ; 
and she lulled her conscience to rest with all the 
specious arguments that love-sick, disobedient 
daughters have ever been accustomed to use. 

So Donald felt more at ease. However 
restrained his intercourse with Roberta might be 
during the summer months, he would surely be 
able to marry her in the autumn. Roberta had 
not been used to a luxurious life. Upon his pay 


7'asmers Summer. 


270 

they could live comfortably, if Sir Rolfe cut off 
his allowance, which he admitted was a very 
likely result. He thought, as so many have 
foolishly thought, that the world would be well 
lost for love ; that Roberta would be better and 
more than father and honor and family and 
money and prestige and social respect and 
domestic comfort. Roberta and he were to be 
happy under circumstances which had been 
always fatal to the happiness of others. No one 
had ever loved as they loved ; no one, therefore, 
had ever given the world well lost for love a 
trial before. Roberta thought just as Donald 
thought. They were living a romance of their 
own making, and finding even in its contradic- 
tions and sorrows and oppositions a happiness 
of their own. 

Roberta watched her father with much 
interest and curiosity when he returned from 
his visit to Sir Rolfe. She could not under- 
stand him. He made no allusion to Donald. 
He seemed to relax his covert, continued watch- 


Tasmer's Summer, 


271 


fulness of her. In fact, the minister was some- 
what astonished at himself. That passionate 
appeal of his enemy to the Christ upon the cross 
had given him a moral stupefaction; that par- 
tial glimpse of the large, white, shadowy cruci- 
fix, that utter self-humiliation of the proud 
nobleman at its foot, that passionately penitent 
cry, My fault ! My fault !” was incompre- 
hensible to him. What vital sorrow possessed 
this man ? He knew that he himself would 
have died rather than have made such a con- 
fession before any mortal. The scene and the 
words haunted him continually. He did not feel 
satisfied with his own behavior. He had been 
even more intemperate than the man he looked 
upon as little better than an idolater. He had 
had an opportunity to be Christlike, and he had 
been anything but Christlike, and in his heart 
there was the same bitter though unvoiced 
confession, “ My fault ! My fault ! My most 
grievous fault !” 

But the feeling of penitence wears away more 


272 


Tasmers Summer, 


quickly than the feeling of anger. He began to 
think that Sir Rolfe must have had some inten- 
tion of injuring him, and that his extravagant 
contrition arose from a sudden realization of the 
sin and its consequences. From this point it was 
easy to regain his satisfaction with himself, and 
his dislike for, and his displeasure at. Sir Rolfe 
Torquil. Then the next step was to express it. 
One day Roberta went out early in the after- 
noon and did not return for some hours. He 
had seen her leave in the boat and had watched 
her tacking about the bay for some time. Sud- 
denly the boat had disappeared round a rocky 
point, and he had been tormented with the idea 
that Donald’s boat was also at anchor in the 
smooth water behind its shelter. He accused 
Roberta, and defamed the Torquils with an 
intemperate anger, and as it happened the idea 
was entirely false. She had merely found a 
favorable wind going, and an unfavorable one 
returning, and she was able indignantly and 
positively to deny the accusation. 


Tasmer's Summer. 


273 


But the idea suggested was one more easy to 
carry out than any the lovers had hitherto hit 
upon, and Balfour having once wrongfully 
blamed his child, was ever afterward sensitively 
afraid of doing her a similar injustice. So 
Roberta, who had been always fond of the sea, 
almost lived upon it during the ensuing summer. 
Frequently she was accompanied by her father, 
more frequently she went alone, or took with her 
one of Rosa Mackenzie’s boys. She developed 
a taste for shells and sea-weeds, and came home 
after every excursion with some sea treasure. 
And Balfour was glad to encourage any new 
interest in her life. He sent to Edinburgh for 
books and glasses, and encouraged her by a 
sympathy born entirely of his desire to atone for 
the loss of her lover. 

His visit to Sir Rolfe had really done no 
good. That nobleman, though he made a special 
religious exercise of forgiving the epithets that 
had been applied to him, was not able to think 
kindly of the minister. He had been put by him 


Tasmers Summer. 


274 

in a mighty temptation, and but for the warning 
entrance of Fergus would probably have slain 
Balfour ; for his hand was on the poniard, which 
his long residence in India had taught him to 
wear concealed, and he had dropped the restrain- 
ing beads from his fingers and was feeling for its 
hilt. The face of Fergus revealed to him the 
danger he was in ; for one whole year of his life 
had been spent in the shadow and horror of a 
probable atonement for precisely such a satis- 
faction of passion. Soon after entering the army 
he had quarreled with a civilian about a trivial 
matter, and with his dirk avenged the fancied 
insult so fiercely that his victim lay for months 
between life and death, and he, within the limits 
of his parole, waited in fear the recovery which 
would give him freedom, or the death for which 
he would have to atone. 

The lesson had been a terrible one, and yet he 
had permitted himself to be driven to the very 
verge of learning it again — all his vows for the 
moment forgotten — all the restraints of years 


Tasmers Summer, 


275 

burst asunder for a little angry breath. Fergus 
understood that passionate imploration at the 
Christ’s feet; although it always remained a 
mystery to Balfour — one which he could only 
explain to himself by a half-contemptuous allu- 
sion to the emotional tendencies of the Catholic 
creed. 

But though this emotion did not sway the 
angry man an hour after Balfour’s departure, it 
left some traces behind whose influence was 
much more permanent. Sir Rolfe, though he 
thought it a religious duty to forgive the scorn- 
ful, contemptuous words which had so irritated 
him, did not forgive the man who spoke them. 
In his heart he separated the sin and the sinner, 
and he found it easier to pardon the sin than to 
tolerate the sinner. He was conscious of a 
desire to annoy him, and if he could do so by 
simply not interfering with Donald, he found it 
a method which it was easy to excuse to his own 
conscience. So the minister had really done 
harm to his own cause by the visit; for Sir Rolfe 


276 


Tasmers Summer, 


had quite recovered himself before Donald’s 
return, and was able to treat the subject with 
one of those polite innuendoes about women 
which some men consider complimentary to 
themselves. 

But, in spite of much said to the contrary, 
there really are pure-hearted young men ; men 
who reverence good womanhood, and who know 
nothing of sinful women, and hardly believe in 
their existence. Donald was such a youth. The 
dim memories of his mother, his intimate knowl- 
edge of his sister Sara, his adoration of Roberta, 
constituted the basis upon which his opinion of 
womanhood was based. He repelled with an 
instinctive anger anything which lowered this 
estimate. He had known no bad women, and 
he "simply did not believe in them. When Sir 
Rolfe smilingly tolerated ''some love affair he 
had heard of toward Ellerloch,” as one of those 
passing liaisons which are supposed somehow to 
be conducive to the ripening of a young man’s 
character, Donald indignantly refused to have 


Tasmers Summer, 


277 


any derogatory word used in reference to the 
object of his affection. 

“ I hope I am a gentleman, father,” he ans- 
wered, with a flushing face. “ I should scorn to 
love a woman whom I did not think worthy to 
be my wife. As to Miss Balfour — ” 

Spare me, I entreat you, Donald, all explana- 
tions. I wish to know nothing of the young 
lady. If she ‘adds a passing glory to your 
youth,’ I am obliged to her.” 

“ But, sir — ” 

“ No, indeed ! I will not discuss a boy’s first 
love affair. You will have forgotten it yourself 
a year hence. A much more important circum- 
stance is your sister’s marriage. Sara has 
behaved splendidly. She has fulfilled my high- 
est hopes. She is a good, sensible girl, and I 
have no doubt will be happy and honorable as 
long as she lives. In the main, sooner or later, 
the Torquils do very well to themselves, which 
is, I hope, no sin.” 

“ I think Sara loves Maclane. I am sure he is 


278 


Tasmer^s Summer, 


a very lovable man. I do not think Sara is mar- 
rying in order to do well to herself.’’ 

“You know nothing of women, Donald. To 
get on in the world — that is the one thing need- 
ful to them. But let this subject pass. I was 
going to say that I shall have all arrangements 
made for you to join the Seaforth Highlanders 
in the autumn. So make the most of your holi- 
day now. Take all the joy of your youth, Don- 
ald. There is only one May in life. But take 
care not to make promises or court acquaintances 
which will embarrass yom* future life. Now I 
must dismiss you, for I have many letters to 
write, and I expect Sara and Maclane within a 
week.” 

Thus he tided over and put off any serious 
explanation on Donald’s part. He really wanted 
to know nothing as to the progress of his love 
affair, for he thought he could very safely trust to 
the watchfulness and animosity of such a man as 
Balfour preventing the irrevocable step of mar- 
riage. And when Sara returned, he had so many 


Tasmer's Summer, 


279 

more vivid interests. She was in herself so 
charming in her new character. The indepen- 
dence she felt in her assured position gave to her 
intercourse with her father a delightful repose 
and familiarity. They talked confidentially 
together of what was to be done for Donald’s 
progress, and of what was to be done for the 
future good of Tasmer. 

Maclane’s sympathy in respect to the clearance 
of Easter-Torquil also gave Sir Rolfe great com- 
fort. He regained his self-satisfaction. He felt 
even an admiration for the kind manner in which 
his clearance had been effected. There had been 
no necessity for soldiers or even constables on 
his estate ; and then by some curious mental pro- 
cess, he very soon associated the good ship and 
the many comforts of the exiles with his own 
forbearance, until he felt as if all was the special 
work of his hand and heart. 

Upon the whole, it was a delightful summer 
at Tasmer. There was the pleasant stir of wed- 
ding preparations throughout it ; the charming 


28 o 


Tasmers Stimmer, 


litter in the family rooms of constantly arriving 
boxes filled with splendid clothing and other 
accessories to the bridal. Maclane was coming 
and going, and his advent was always a new 
pleasure. The boat built for him by Rory 
and Angus Mackenzie proved a great success. 
It was named the Sara Torquil, and Sara, 
dressed in beautiful garments, broke the wine on 
her bow, and chanted the launch song. The 
little craft went off splendidly; there was a 
happy picnicky lunch on board, and Maclane 
drank his bespoken cup of happiness from a 
brimming cup — which is a great thing for any 
mortal to do. 

Afterward, Donald and he had many a glori- 
ous race down the sound, or up the Minch, 
when the squalls over Torridon were like to 
blow the sails to bits, and the wind would fly 
right up to the north and fetch the sea down 
till the waves thundered over the bows. And 
as Rory sailed with Maclane, and Angus with 


Tasmers Summer. 


281 


Donald, the emulation was doubled in each 
boat. 

For my faather iss the obstinate man what- 
effer, Maistir Tonalt,” Angus would say, with a 
laugh. “ It will pe wild work lifting the poats 
to wintwardth out of the floodt tide, but my 
faather, he will pe sailing the mast out of the 
Sara Torquily pefore he will pe gifing in whet- 
effer. Praise God.” 

Sometimes Father Matthew went on one boat 
or the other; more frequently with Maclane, 
for he was interested in him from a religious 
point of view. And, though on a sea holiday, 
the priest had the glad vivacity of boyhood, and 
could sing a boat-song or reef a sail, or handle 
an oar with any man. He knew well also how 
to take advantage of those still nights when they 
drifted peacefully over moonlit seas. Then soul 
spoke to soul of the solemn things pertaining 
to its destiny, and they reasoned together until 
Maclane was almost persuaded of the truths the 
father so earnestly pleaded. But his desire to 


282 


Tasmer^s Summer. 


prove spiritual things by earthly methods, to 
arrive at conviction by logical sequences, 
hindered him much. 

‘‘You must make a venture,” said the father; 
“ faith is a venture before a man is a Christian. 
It is a grace after it.” 

“ If I could be made certain.” 

“ Ah, my son, certainty is the reward of those 
who by an act of will embrace the truth !” 

“ O, for some knowledge of the Divine 
Being!” 

“ It has been the longing of all ages. ‘ O that 
I knew where I might find Him !’ cried Job. 
‘ Show us the Father and it sufficeth us,’ was the 
supplication of the disciples. It is the ceaseless, 
passionate longing of all heaven-born souls ; but 
though there is no open vision in these days. His 
presence is ever near to the believer.” 

Maclane looked with a pious admiration at 
this fervent Christian. His calm manner and 
sweet voice told of a habitual communion with 
God, and his eyes were full of what Bossuet 


Tasmer^s Summer, 


283 


calls “ an incomparable joy” — a joy which none 
can taste but those who taste it unmixed and 
alone. And such conversations were not with- 
out their influence ; the priest felt that Maclane 
could not linger long outside the gate ; Christ 
Himself would speak the compelle intrareS 
In August Sara and Maclane were married. 
The castle was full of company. Over the gray 
old walls the flag of the Torquils, with its fiery 
torch and crossed claymores, blew north and 
south, as it had not blown for many a genera- 
tion. Inside, there was a light laughter of merry 
girls and happy matrons, and all the delightful 
confusion which follows a crowd of idle, pleas- 
ure-seeking men, whose talk is of sporting and 
boating and beautiful women. Most of the com- 
pany had brought with them their own maids 
and valets ; there was, therefore, a second and by 
no means an unimportant party below the main 
one. Elegant valets, with suave manners and 
light-footed as cats, and spruce, jaunty ladies’- 
maids were continually passing up and down the 


284 


Tasmers Summer. 


stairs and along the corridors, leaving behind 
them an echo of carefully modulated badinage 
and a flutter of many-colored ribbons. 

In the midst of all Sir Rolfe and his hand- 
some son and daughter made a very distinct 
impression. They were of the gay world, and 
yet in a great measure not of it. Sara and Don- 
ald were so fresh and unstained by it, and the 
old colonel brought into its light atmosphere 
just so much of the military atmosphere as added 
a grave yet gracious dignity to the most frivo- 
lous amusements. 

To the marriage ceremony every Highland 
gentleman and lady in the Kintail district had 
been bidden ; and the old church of the crusader 
was crowded with life and beauty. But among 
all the women there Sara Torquil was the love- 
liest. The red-brown of her hair, the deep blue 
of her eyes, her fine color, her tall figure clothed 
in glistening satin, gave her a starry look, which 
may be felt or might be painted, but which 
eludes words. “ Such a handsome couple !’* 


Tasmer^s Summer, 


285 


Such a suitable match !” “ Such a fortunate 

woman !’' “ Such a happy man !” These and 

many other similar exclamations summed up the 
success of Sara Torquil and Andrew Maclane’s 
marriage-day. 

They left Tasmer for Sarum Court imme- 
diately, but most of the guests remained 
for longer or shorter periods. Indeed, it was 
nearly a month ere the last party reluctantly left 
the coverts and the tempting hills, for the 
heather was in its finest purple and the birds in 
splendid feather. As for Donald, he had 
thoroughly enjoyed the festival time. A man 
may be in love, but he is not made insensible to 
fine company and life that is rapid and vivid by 
that condition. And yet he was glad when it 
was over. Military service meant a home and 
Roberta, and from these two central thoughts 
he had planned out an existence full of the 
sweetest and purest possibilities. Only ideals, 
perhaps, but it is upon ideals the noblest 
hunger of the soul is satisfied. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

IN THE TROUGH OF THE SEA. 

“ His hands are clasped and raised, 

In the conflict dread ; 

His passionate gaze is on the cross 
Above his head ; 

And scarce more worn and sad 
That awful face, 

That leans in the heaviness of death 
From its high place. 

Than the wasted face upturned to plead 
For strength and grace.” 

Near the end of September, Donald Torquil 
was gazetted to a company in the Seaforth 
Highlanders. 

“ When I received my commission,” said Sir 
Rolfe, “ I said the votive mass for it, with the 


In the Trough of the Sea. 


2^7 


Tasmer beads in my hands, Donald. Arrange 
with Father Matthew the time, and make your 
thanksgiving and vows over them.” 

“ I am glad to be reminded of such a good 
custom.” 

“ How many prayers have they reckoned ! 
How many sacred promises have they 
recorded. They have been wet with the tears 
of the penitent and the sorrowful ; they have 
been hallowed with the last kisses of the dying. 
The vows made upon them cannot be broken 
without sin. Be careful, then, of the words you 
say, Donald.” 

It was to Father Matthew that Donald went 
with the joyful news first. 

‘‘ I am Captain Torquil now. Father, and feel 
my heart glow with military enthusiasm. The 
Torquils may like this or that for a little while, 
but they are all born soldiers.” 

“ Man is a military animal, Donald, and he 
loves fighting and parade.” 

“ But it is not wrong, Father?” 


288 In the Trough of the Sea, 


‘‘This is a militant state, Donald. Have you 
never thought of Holy Church as a mailed 
warrior ? The light of her drawn sword has 
illumined the world. I am glad you have 
remembered to make an offering first to Heaven 
of your success and your hopes. If God wills, 
may He bless you 

“ I am very liappy ; and yet Fergus has cast a 
little shadow on me, though he did not mean to 
do so, I am sure. When he saw me first this 
morning, he did not know that I had been 
gazetted, yet he said to me : ‘ I have had a 
dream, and read it if you can ; for I think you 
will never be a soldier at all.’ It was in the gray 
dawn, he said, and he saw me draw my sword, 
and a hand — a woman’s hand, white and thin as 
a shadow — touched the hilt, and the sword fell to 
the ground ; and he woke, wet with the sweat of 
mortal terror. I laughed when Fergus told me, 
but the dream has troubled me.” 

“ Let not your heart be troubled, Donald. 
Commit your way unto the Lord ; then, what- 


HER FACE, WHITE AS DEATH, LAY AGAINST THE BLACK BILLOWS . Page 300 








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hi the Trough of the Sea. 289 


ever happens, it will be right. Listen to what 
our own saint, the angelic Columba has to say. 
This very morning I was reading the song he 
wrote, as he journeyed from Tara. It has the 
piety of a psalm of David, and the grand, musi- 
cal march of a chorus of Sophocles: 

“ ‘ Alone on the mountains, I need the help of God only. 

“ ‘ This shall shield me better than a guard of six thousand 
warriors, for not even these could avail me aught if the hour 
appointed for my death had come. 

“ ‘ The reprobate perish even within the sanctuary ; the 
elect of God is preserved even in the fore-front of the battle. 

“ ‘ Let God order my life as it please Him. Nothing can 
be taken from it or added to it. 

“ ‘ Each man must fulfill his own lot. The thing which he 
sees vanishes from his grasp ; the thing which he sees not 
comes upon him. 

* It is not a sign nor an omen which can fix the period of 
life. Our trust is in One who is mightier. 

“ ‘ I care not for the voices of birds or the casting of lots. 
My Druid is Christ the Son of God. My kingdom is that of 
the King of Kings ; and I dwell with my brethren at Kells and 
at Moone.’ ” 


“ It is a joyful, trustful song, Father.” 


290 In the Trough of the Sea. 


“ I have always loved Saint Columba. I can 
see him, tall and strong and beautiful, lifting the 
cross among the barbaric Piets ; I can see him 
standing by the side of King Brude on the walls 
of Craig Phadric, confounding the Druids, as 
Moses confounded the Egyptian magicians. I 
can see him preaching in Iona, and sitting among 
councilors at Drumceath, and I can see him 
dying in the ecstasy of a vision of angels. Do 
you remember, Donald, that this is the Feast of 
St. Michael ? Let us implore the protection and 
favor of the angelic warrior for you.” 

Yet, though Donald went from Father Con- 
tach full of the purest and highest enthusiasm, 
there was in his heart a faint sough of some com- 
ing doom — he knew not what. Even the saint’s 
triumphant song had left an echo of the uncertain 
and the unforeseen : 

The thing which he sees vanishes from his 
grasp ; the thing which he sees not comes upon 
him.” 

He wished he had not heard the words ; they 


In the Trough of the Sea, 


291 


had fastened themselves in his heart like an 
arrow. 

He went next to see Angus. He wanted to go 
to Ellerloch the following day, and he wanted 
Angus to go with him. There was then some 
doubt of the wind and weather, but the next 
morning was a specially favorable one ; there was 
the blue above and the blue below ; a good south 
wind, and a sunshine that went to the very heart 
of man and nature. 

Sir Rolfe saw his son leaving, but he was not 
inclined to do anything which would interfere 
with his pleasure. Fergus spoke to him as he 
was half-way through the court, and Donald 
turned with a light laugh and answered his ques- 
tion. Never before had his great personal 
beauty struck his father so forcibly. He looked 
as happy as a bridegroom, as handsome as a 
young Greek god, when he lifted his smiling 
face to the window at which he saw Sir Rolfe 
standing, and then bared his head in the sunlight 
as a good-bye to him. 


292 In the Trough of the Sea. 


Ellerloch was reached without any adventure 
or misadventure, and Donald waited the coming 
of his love. He left Angus with the boat and 
climbed the rocks to watch for her leaving har- 
bor. Her father was with her that afternoon, and 
also a little lad from the village, but he saw her 
land and gather some sea-grass, and he knew she 
had seen the token of his presence — an oar from 
the Sea Bird standing in the crevice of the cliffs — 
for when he was not waiting for her the oar also 
was absent. 

There was then a certainty that he would have 
to wait until the following morning, perhaps 
afternoon ; and Angus and he made themselves as 
comfortable as possible. They could do a little 
fishing or gunning, and they had plenty to talk 
about, for Donald had promised to take Angus 
to the army with him, and the young fisher was 
full of anticipations and eager for information. 

The next day broke in unusual beauty. 

A pit too pright,” said Angus, doubtfully, at 
skies that were innocent of shadows or clouds. 


In the Trough of the Sea. 


293 


In the middle of the forenoon Donald saw 
Roberta’s boat tacking for the well-known 
covert. 

“ My father has gone to a farm six miles away,” 
she said, happily, “ and we can have a long day 
together, Donald and she then made Angus 
lift from her boat a basket containing delicacies 
of various kinds for their dinner. 

Never was there a meal spread and eaten in 
such a joyful mood. It was laid upon the sea- 
shore, and the table was a large, flat rock, and 
their seats the dry, warm sands covered with 
plaids ; and Angus boiled the kettle and waited 
upon the lovers with kindly service, too delicate 
to hinder confidence, and yet sufficient for every 
need. 

After the meal was over he climbed the cliffs 
and watched the horizon. It might be the 
minister would get home before Roberta and 
come out to meet her, or the weather might 
turn unfavorable, for sudden change was the 
rule on the Minch; and though Roberta had 


294 Trough of the Sea. 


but a short sail, if change was coming it would 
be well to warn her in time. 

So quickly went the happy hours away ! At 
last, at last there was daybreak in their east. 
Donald had got his commission. He was going 
to Edinburg in three days. If Mr. Balfour 
accepted the call given him he would leave in a 
month. They looked upon this call as a really 
providential arrangement on their behalf, and 
Roberta was certain that he would be accepted, 
unless her father heard of Donald’s appointment, 
which was very unlikely. So the foolish couple, 
in the selfishness of their satisfaction, not only 
forgot every other love and every other duty, 
but with a forwardness of personality that was 
sinful in all its elements supposed things of essen- 
tially more importance to be subservient to 
their desires. 

But they were unconscious of any incon- 
sistency. It seemed right enough to their long- 
ing hearts that the plans of every other mortal 
should serve their plans; that two fathers should 


In the Trough of the Sea. 295 

be wronged and slighted that they niight have 
satisfaction; that two homes should be filled 
with sorrow that they might build their home 
upon the ruins. They were the world to each 
other, and they had no consciousness of obliga- 
tions outside their own small orbit. 

So that afternoon, the sun shone for them 
only, and the sea murmured softly with little 
treble sounds against the boats and among the 
pebbles for them. They congratulated them- 
selves on the necessity which had taken Mr. 
Balfour from home so opportunely ; they made 
pleasant reflections upon the deacons of that St. 
Andrew’s Free Kirk whose call was likely to be 
so propitious to their plans. And in all this 
there was nothing of malice, nothing of active 
unkindness to others. It was the sin of thought- 
lessness ; the sin which we are so apt to count 
venial, but which is, nevertheless, the great sin 
of social life — the unconsidered rock which 
wrecks far more happiness than any storm of 
open enmity, or open wrong. 


296 In the Trough of the Sea, 


“ The minutes go too quickly ! The minutes 
go too quickly, Roberta sighed Donald. 
“ But oh ! when all of them will be our own !’* 

And as they paced the brown-ribbed sands, 
hand in hand together, Roberta leaned her hand- 
some head against his shoulder, and Donald 
thought himself, among all the sons of men that 
day, the very happiest. 

Suddenly Angus called to them from the 
rocks, and with eager motions he directed them 
to the boats. There was no craft in sight ; there 
was no apparent change in the wind. But 
Angus had the prescience of a west-coast fisher, 
or a sea-bird. He saw the storm afar off. He 
urged the lovers to make haste in their prepara- 
tions. He was almost cross at the laughter and 
delay with which Roberta arranged her basket 
and made her adieu. 

“ With this wind I shall be home in twenty 
minutes," she said, as Donald lifted her into the 
light sail-boat with whispered love words, and 
one long good-bye kiss. 


In the Trough of the Sea. 


297 


“We hadt petter pe following her,” said Angus ; 
“ there hass peen time lost, there hass peen too 
much time lost — ^you will see that, sir, ferry soon ; 
yes, inteet!” 

“ What do you mean, Angus?” 

Angus was busy lifting the anchor of the Sea 

Bird. 

“ You will pe seeing what 1 mean, sir ; there is 
a squall to the north, it will be here ferry soon — 
perhaps it may make away to the Skye shore — 
put Miss Palfour's poat iss a small poat, and it 
will pe like a feather in the plast if it will pe 
coming this way — and it iss coming — and it iss 
coming, sir ! Look ! Look to the north way !” 

“Up with the sails, Angus ! We must keep in 
Miss Balfour’s wake. Hurry! We may be too 
late I” 

Even while he was speaking the wind was 
veering and changing, and in a few minutes it 
was coming down with a roar that drowned 
speech ; then the sky grew black, and there was 
a woeful moan in the waters beneath it. 


298 In the Trough of the Sea, 


Angus, who could do anything that mortal 
man could do with a boat, managed to keep 
Roberta in sight. She handled her little craft 
with wonderful skill, and in spite of the fierce 
blast was managing to tack for the harbor. Sev- 
eral men were on the pier watching her. There 
was a stir among them as if they were going to 
launch a boat and go to her assistance. Donald 
stood at the bow of the Sea Bird like a man dis- 
traught; one moment crying out to Roberta, 
the next urging Angus to impossibilities. 

At length she was at the bend of the bar. If 
she could pass it, she would be in smooth water. 
A boat manned with six oars was flying toward 
her; Donald could see the minister’s form 
among them. It was life or death for Roberta 
to weather that perilous turn. Angus kept his 
eyes fixed upon her. Donald stood with parted 
lips and clasped hands, enduring an unspeakable 
anguish. And Roberta tacked for the turn with 
a desperate skill ; but the sea suddenly came 
down like great Bens rolling over each other 


In the Trough of the Sea. 


299 


in fury, and the poor girl evidently lost con- 
fidence and became terrified. She abandoned 
the helm, and, with great effort, reached the 
slender mast, to which she clung. Donald was 
near enough to distinguish through the murk of 
the storm her white face turned toward him. 

He called to her with passionate strength, but 
his voice was carried away on the great wind 
blowing it southward. If she could only hold 
out five minutes longer ! If she could only tack 
so as to get over the bar ! If love could only 
work a miracle for her salvation ! Alas ! Alas ! 
While every eye was turned upon her, while 
every heart was praying for her, a tremendous 
wave went over the boat, as if there was no boat 
there. 

A cry of mortal agony blent itself with the 
shrieking wind. It came from the miserable 
Donald. He was standing at the stern of the 
boat, when the billows went over Roberta. Xhe 
next moment, the slender mast, with the poor 
girl clinging to it, was tossed into the trough of 


300 In the Trough of the Sea, 


the waves. The swell brought her close to him. 
Her face, white as death, lay against the black 
billows, and Donald saw no other thing between 
heaven and earth. With a loud cry of “ Roberta ! 
Roberta r with the swift plunge and unerring 
aim of a sea-bird, he leaped into the raging 
water. 




CHAPTER XVII. 

FAREWELL, LOVE. 

Yes, love, indeed, is light from heaven ; 

A spark of that immortal fire 
With angels shared ; by Allah given, 

To lift from earth our low desire. 

Devotion wafts the mind above. 

But heaven itself descends in love ; 

A ray of Him who formed the whole, 

A glory circling round the soul." 

** Had we never loved so kindly. 

Had we never loved so blindly. 

Never met, or never parted. 

We had ne’er been broken-hearted." 

There are moments in the life of most men 
when the spirit takes possession of the flesh and 
defies its limitations ; when it dares the ele- 
ments, and subdues them ; when it faces death, 


302 


Farewelly Love, 


and is triumphant over it. It was in the might 
of such a moment Donald made his perilous 
leap to save his beloved, or to die with her. 
He had calculated with more than mortal pre- 
science the exact moment and the exact space. 
As he struck the water, his hand grasped the 
floating spar. 

But Roberta was almost beyond consciousness. 
To his passionate outcry of love and hope, there 
was but the faintest flicker of intelligence. He 
fancied a quiver in the closed eyelids ; that was 
all. Her hold upon the mast was the mechani- 
cal hold of a death-grasp. She knew nothing; 
but Donald’s mind had a supernatural clearness. 
He understood in a moment that no mortal 
might make his way on those mountain-tops and 
in those valleys of watery death, and he looked 
consciously toward the rocky beach, where the 
set of the tide must carry them. To abandon 
themselves to this ‘set’ was their only hope. 
Some wave mightier than all others might lift 


Farewelly Love. 


303 


them above the rocks, which kept the perilous 
path to the land. 

These thoughts were vivid and rapid as a 
flash of lightning. With one arm he grasped 
Roberta ; with the other, the sustaining spar. 
He turned her dear white face to his own breast. 
It was likely that their bodies would be cut and 
bruised upon the jagged rocks ; but, if possible, 
he would save from ruin the loveliness of his 
Roberta’s countenance. His own breast should 
be its shield. 

For a moment or two, they oscillated on the 
mighty under-swell between waves ; then a 
motion, tremendous as the upheaval of a world, 
made Donald aware that the fatal wave was com- 
ing. He clasped Roberta closer, and with the 
great name of GoF' upon his lips, surrendered 
himself and the being dearer than himself to the 
mountainous rush of water— to the blinding spray 
— to the cruel rocks. 

He knew no more. 

His movements, however, had been appre- 


304 


Farewell^ Love, 


hended by the crowd of watching fishermen, and 
at their utmost speed, a party made for the exact 
point where the bodies were likely to be cast. 
Their intimate knowledge of the power and the 
set of the tidal currents directed them with a 
marvelous accuracy. Five minutes after the sea 
had cast them upon the rocky coast, Roberta’s 
father lifted her tenderly in his arms. 

‘‘There is still life here!” he cried. “There 
is still life here!” And, wdth a wonderful 
rapidity, the fishers made a litter of the minis- 
ter’s plaid, and carried the girl to her home. 

Yet even in moments so precious, with the 
sense of wrong burning in his heart, David Bal- 
four did not forget to care for his enemy. He 
had seen Donald’s leap into the storm ; he knew 
that if Roberta was saved, she owed her life to 
Donald’s love and courage ; and bitterly as he 
reproached the young man in his mind, he could 
not but admire his devotion, and pity his young 
life lost. For Donald lay among the rocks, 
bleeding from many a wound, and the arm which 


Farewell^ Love, 


305 


had encompassed Roberta had been broken ere 
it surrendered its treasure. His eyes were wide 
open, but quite unconscious. He was dead in 
every sense ; he was stunned in every limb. 

The minister turned from the piteous sight 
with full eyes, and ere he hastened home with 
his own child, said ; 

“ Peter Mackenzie, I leave young Torquil 
with you. Do your duty for him to the last 
moment, and if I — ” 

“ There iss no neet to be telling me to do my 
duty to the Torquil, Minister. It iss to my own 
cottage I will pe takin’ him. Yes, inteet, thank 
God.” 

Fortunately for Donald, both Peter and his 
wife were skilled in every means by which the 
drowned are brought back to life ; and in an 
hour’s time Donald’s soul had been reluctantly 
called back to the ciay tenement where sore 
suffering awaited it. For, though the heart 
resumed its regular action and the lungs again 
breathed the breath of life, Donald remained 


3o6 


Farewelly Love, 


unconscious, and it was evident that he had suf- 
fered some very severe internal injury. 

‘‘ It iss a fight in the teeth of death he will pe 
hafing,” said Rosa, as she watched the young 
man tossing and moaning through the dreadful 
night. 

Early in the morning Angus opened the door 
of the cabin. He had managed to bring the 
Sea Bird into harbor with the tide, and had 
easily learned where to look for his young 
master. 

He iss ferry ill, Rosa, and why then were 
you not going for the minister? The minister 
iss as goot, yes, and petter, than any doctor at 
aal.” 

‘‘You will pe talking ferry foolish things 
Angus Torquil. The minister iss a goot man 
but he iss shust a man, and that iss aal. It 
wouldt pe takin’ God Almighty himself, to pe 
helping the man who hat drowndt your only 
childt. Yes, inteet!” 


Farewell, Love. 


307 


“ Go for the minister, Rosa. It will pe hiss 
duty. It will pe pehafing like a Christian.” 

There iss times when a man will not want to 
pehafe like a Christian. I will not pe asking the 
minister to pe safing the life of his enemy.” 

** Ferry well, then, it iss pack to Torquil we 
will pe going ; and you will pe going with us, 
mirover, for you are a Torquil and ploot-kin to 
Maister Tonalt, and hiss life will pe in your 
hands, Rosa.” 

To this proposition, Rosa willingly agreed, 
and without any delay the Sea Bird sailed south- 
ward. A sad voyage it was, although the wind 
was fair and the skies bright. For Donald lay 
bound in that land of awful shadows, which we 
call delirium, and the tragedy of Roberta’s 
struggle for life was ever before him. He went 
over and over it. Night and day he was watch- 
ing the girl’s hard, brave fight with boisterous 
winds and mountainous waves, her pitiful 
abandonment of hope, her sudden disappearance, 
when all the waves and billows went over her. 


3o8 


Farewell, Love. 


Terrible hours were spent in that little cabin on 
the lonely ocean ; and both Angus and Rosa 
were worn out when the Sea Bird cast her anchor 
in Torquil Bay, at the gray dawn of the second 
morning. 

At the same moment the Master of Tasmer 
was kneeling in the oratory, with the old ivory 
beads in his hand. It was his custom, at the first 
brightening of the night shadows, to follow the 
advice of the wisest of men: “ To prevent the 
sun, to give God thanks, and at the dayspring 
pray unto Him.”* He had risen with a cheer- 
ful alacrity for the purpose, for his devotion was 
a delight to him. It was no lip service ; he 
really loved and adored the great Being before 
whom he prostrated himself ; asking with a 
cheerful and devout confidence : 

“ Give me grace, O Lord, to do what Thou 
commandest, and command what Thou pleasest. 

Give me grace to suffer what Thou per- 
mittest, and permit what Thou pleasest.” 

* Wisdom of Solomon. XVI. : 28. 


Farewell^ Love. 


309 


Then full of peace he went into his own room, 
and stood some minutes looking out over the sea. 
Suddenly he was aware of the feet of men in 
regular steps, and his heart grew apprehensive 
and heavy as lead. He opened the casement 
with trembling hands, and leaned forward to see 
the sorrow that was coming. 

Four strong fishers were carrying a mattress 
on which his son lay bound. His face was like 
clay, his eyes closed, he uttered heart-rending 
cries of hopeless agony. Sir Rolfe went down 
to meet him. Silently he led the way to 
Donald'S room ; and so they carried the young 
lord to the chamber he had left a few days 
before, in all the beauty and radiant expectancy 
of love and hope. 

Every dwelling is subject to the visits of some 
terrible guests— guests that lift the latch and 
enter in, and ask no man’s leave to do so. In 
Tasmer’s old rooms, pain and death sat waiting. 
The sorrow of the day was answered by the 
sorrow of the night; and human nature and 


310 


Farewelly Love, 


earthly love would alike have failed, had not the 
Christ, clothed in eternal patience, been also 
there, waiting the hour of need. For it was 
spring again before Donald Torquil escaped 
from the Valley of the Shadow of Death. 

The news of their brother’s danger reached 
Sara and Maclane in Rome, and they immediately 
returned to Tasmer, where they found Sir Rolfe 
and Father Contach almost exhausted with their 
vigil, and their efforts to alleviate the sufferings 
of the sick man. But Sara brought with her two 
Sisters of Charity, and the advent of these gen- 
tle ministering souls introduced some comfort 
and order into the worn-out household. But 
withal they were sorrowful weeks, full of dsLys 
in which love watched breathlessly the struggle 
for life, in which the Angel of Death was sensi- 
tively present, and the beating of his wings 
almost heard by the living. 

Donald scarcely wished to live ; for he believed 
Roberta dead. No one spoke her name, and he 
was himself unable to form the question his soul 


Farewell, Love, 


3^1 

constantly longed to ask. But though she had 
vanished from this planet, she must be some- 
where in the universe of God. His soul followed 
hard after her. He tugged at his mortal bands, 
as a prisoner at the cords that bind him. “ Let 
me go to her ! Wherever she may be, merciful 
God, let me go to her !” was the voiceless but 
constant imploration of his heart. 

One night he awoke from a long, long, troubled 
sleep. He was out of pain. He was clearly con- 
scious, he was full of rest, though too weak to lift 
a finger. His room seemed strange to him. The 
tables were crowded with all the paraphernalia 
of severe sickness, and his own special furniture 
had been pushed aside to make space for large 
chairs and lounges, suitable for the relief of 
those who were worn out with watching. 

In one of these chairs a Sister sat musing and 
praying. Her face was like a holy book. She 
was so still and calm, that the slight movement of 
her fingers as they passed along the rosary was 
noticeable. Donald derived a strange content in 


312 


Farewelly Love, 


watching her. It was like a dream of heaven, 
after his long anguish of delirium, and he feared 
to see it fade away. 

In a little while she rose and came to his side. 

You were praying for me ?’' whispered Don- 
ald, with a great effort. 

“ I was praying for 3’ou and Roberta.” 

Her voice was sweet and low ; her words were 
like the words of an angel to him. He cried out, 
as an infant might cry, weak and shrill ; and he 
looked at her with such imploring eyes that she 
understood him without speech. 

“ Roberta, also, has been very ill ; but she has 
recovered. I was praying for her soul.” 

He could not answer. That one short, shrill 
cry had exhausted his strength ; but large tears 
of joy gathered in his hollow eyes; and the gen- 
tle Sister dried them, and with holy, hopeful 
words soothed him to sleep again. 

During his illness Sir Rolfe had watched his 
son with a real sympathy. He was glad that 
about Roberta they had no hard words and no 


Farewell, Love, 


313 


unkind feelings. From Angus he had heard the 
whole tragical story, and his soul was full of pity 
for the young girl who had so nearly lost her 
life for love of his son. It was true that she had 
been in the way of disobedience, and therefore 
in the way of sin ; that she had deliberately 
chosen her own pleasure, though she had to tear 
it secretly through forbidden gates. But he 
remembered her youth, and he understood what 
a temptation a bright, handsome, adoring lover 
like Donald must have been. Indeed, there were 
hours when Donald lay on the very shoals and 
sands of Time, in which he assured himself that 
he would have been reasonable about the mar- 
riage, and that the tragedy was mainly due to 
the proud, impracticable bigotry of Minister 
Balfour. 

He hoped, indeed, that the love of Donald and 
Roberta would not survive the suffering it had 
caused them. He knew how often men found 
out, through burning fever and bodily pain and 
weakness, that their passion was but the over- 


P'areweliy Love, 


flow of youth's impetuosity and emotion, and he 
quite expected that his son would be cured of his 
sickness and his love at the same time. 

Possibly he might have been right, had 
Donald’s love for Roberta been simply the 
desire of a young man for physical beauty. But 
when love finds the soul of the beloved, then it 
is an affection antedating this life, and holding 
the promise of eternity. Truly Donald admired 
Roberta’s personal loveliness ; he felt the great 
charm of her fresh vitality, her splendid coloring 
and her graceful movements ; but, after all, it 
was Robertas soul he loved — the soul that looked 
through her loving eyes into his soul — the soul 
that drew like a magnet all the sweetness of his 
own soul — the soul that gave to her simplest 
words hidden meanings — sweet, vague memories 
— that stirred in him feelings for which he had 
no name ; illimitable stretching backward and 
forward, recalling, promising, binding him with 
a thousand airy bonds, sweeter than life, stronger 
than death, not to be broken and not to be for- 


Farewell, Love, 


315 


gotten. While Roberta lived Donald knew that 
he must love her. Though she went to the 
uttermost parts of the earth, he must follow her. 

One day at the close of March, Donald came 
up from the village with a letter in his hand and 
the strength of some sure purpose in his face. 
He met the baron in the fir-wood, and he ans- 
wered the questioning glance at the letter with- 
out hesitation. 

It regards my company, father. The fur- 
lough granted on account of sickness is nearly 
expired. I must resign or join my regiment. 
It is ordered to Canada.'’ 

“Decide your own fate, Donald. We have 
grown very close to each other during this sad 
winter, and I shall be sorry to lose your com- 
panionship. I have ceased to expect your 
co-operation in the improvements I am making 
on Tasmer. I know that your disapproval of 
them is beyond reasoning with." 

“ Have 1 said anything to offend you, father?" 

“ You have given me no intentional offense." 


3i6 


Farewell, Love. 


Then Donald remembered that Sara had told 
him how passionately in his delirious ravings he 
had lamented the dispersion of their sept. 

Our father often turned white to his very 
lips.” He was unable to bear your supplica^ 
tions and your reproaches.” He felt that you 
had thought in your sanest hours all that you 
muttered and cried in your unconscious state.” 
So much Sara had said, and Donald understood 
that the baron had resigned all hope of his 
sympathy. He glanced at the pale, thoughtful 
man by his side, and a sentiment of regret filled 
his heart. He wished that he could have taken 
his father’s hand and said : '‘In all things per- 
taining to Tasmer we will stand shoulder to 
shoulder, sir.” But Donald’s opinion of the 
“ clearance” was still the same. He regarded it 
as a movement at once unjust and unkind, and 
of very doubtful advantage to the barony of 
Tasmer. 

“ I think 1 had better join my company, 
father. And it is my duty to tell you that Miss 


Farewell, Love, 


317 

Balfour has a right to be consulted. 1 thought 
of going to Ellerloch to-morrow. Angus will 
manage the boat.” 

Sir Rolfe stood still and looked reproachfully 
at his son. 

You intend really to take again a road that 
has nearly cost you your life? Does your infat- 
uation for that girl still rule you ?” 

“ It is not an infatuation, sir. It is love, holy 
and strong. She promised to marry me when I 
got my commission. I trust that she will still 
be ready to keep her promise.” 

Then Sir Rolfe, with a haughty movement of 
dismissal to his son, walked forward without 
another word; and Donald was sensible of a 
sudden moral shock and a quick physical faint- 
ness. He leaned against one of the great fir- 
trees and lifted his bonnet and let the fresh 
March wind blow across his hot brow. He was 
still so weak that the sensation of anger which 
first assailed him made him tremble. He had 
proved by such long and severe suffering his 


Farewelly Love, 


318 

love for Roberta Balfour that he felt that he 
had, at least, a right to have that love recog- 
nized. A sense of injustice made him resent his 
father’s prejudice ; a sense of honor made him 
impatient of any longer delay as regarded 
Roberta. Angus thought it possible to take the 
boat to Ellerloch, and he believed himself able 
to take the journey. 

During the weeks of his convalescence there 
had been such a pleasant confidence between 
himself and Sir Rolfe, that he felt keenly his 
father’s relapse into sympathetic silence. 
Before leaving him for the night he made an 
effort to break it. 

“ Dear father,” he said, “ I must go to Eller- 
loch to-morrow ; do not let me go with your 
anger. I made a promise to Miss Balfour last 
September ; do you think that my sickness and 
the lapse of time have absolved me from it ?” 

What promise did you make her ?” 

“ I promised to make her my wife.” 

“ Then do so. As a gentleman, you can do no 


Farewell, Love. 


319 


less. The wrong was in the promise. If it 
affected only yourself, I should say break it, 
though you broke your heart, also ; but a 
promise made to a woman who loves you is 
inviolable. Go to Ellerloch and marry the girl, 
if you wish, and make much of her love ; it will 
be all that is left you.’’ 

My dear father — ” 

If I be dear, where is your obedience ?” 

He rose with the question, and passed into 
the oratory ; and Donald, trembling with 
physical weakness and mental trouble, fell upon 
the nearest couch and shut in the heavy tears 
behind his closed eyelids, and his clasped hands 
above them. 

In the morning, with the early tide, he started 
for Ellerloch. Angus came up to the castle for 
him ; and leaning upon his strong arm, Donald 
walked through the firs and out of their dewy 
stillness into the keen salt breeze of the gray 
Minch water-way. The dawn was just edging 
the gneiss with pinkish, pallid hues, and on the 


320 


Farewelly Love, 


desolate ancient hills the delicate green of thin 
grass dyed the tint of the rock. A heavy rain 
in the night had deadened the breeze, and, as it 
often does in the Minch, had swung it away 
round to the southeast. 

Donald looked lovingly at the sky and the 
sea, and the white streaks of foam and the spent 
swell breaking among the boulders. He bent 
over the boat’s nose, to see how she was rising 
and falling in the water, and felt quite satisfied 
with her trend forward. The peace, the lulling, 
cradling motion, the fresh, lifedaden wind, 
soothed him inexpressibly. He lay down in his 
sea-blankets at the stern, and idly watching the 
forlorn headlands and the vapory edges of the 
fells, he let the swing of the boat lull him into 
the soundest, sweetest, deepest, longest sleep he 
had ever known. 

Angus had the patience and wisdom of love. 
He pushed forward the Sea Bird and let Donald 
sleep. Hour after hour passed, and the young 
man never moved. It was near sunset when he 


Farewell, Love, 


321 


lifted his head and looked at the old treeless 
coast, and the black hills lining it. The boat 
was luffiing under them, to keep the failing 
breeze ; and the very sadness of their ragged 
edges, draped in mist, touched and comforted 
him. It was the same somber look which 
charmed the early saints, and girded these 
solitary headlands with their cells. He looked 
at them with something of awe in his face, for 
the Sea Bird was rippling their very shadows. 

The next day, with a fair wind, they reached 
Ellerloch in the afternoon, and Donald went at 
once to David Balfour’s house. The little maid- 
servant let him enter with a frightened look. 
She said the minister was in the parlor, and as 
she spoke, softly opened the door. 

Balfour was alone. He was sitting by the fire 
lost in thought. His right hand lay upon his 
knee, his left upon an open book at his side. 
When Donald spoke, he rose to his feet, his 
stern face softened and flushed, he went forward 


322 


Farewelly Love, 


a step or two, and offered his hand to the young 
man. 

** I am glad to see you once more, Torquil, in 
the land of the living." 

“ Sir, I am glad to see you. I wish first of all 
to say, forgive me." 

“ When I forgave Roberta, I forgave you also. 
Shall I be less merciful than He who said : * Go 
in peace, and sin no more.’ ” 

“ Sir, we truly sinned against your father-love 
and authority ; but wherein else have we done 
wrong ? Can it be sin to love as I love 
Roberta? Oh, no, sir! Give me Roberta for 
my wife. In the face of God and man, give her 
to me ; and then — " 

Has Baron Torquil given you permission to 
ask for my daughter ?" 

“ Alas, no, sir ! but — ” 

“ Neither do I." 

‘‘Roberta loves me. Do not force us to a 
clandestine marriage. I wish to deal honorably 
with you, sir." 


Farewell, Love. 


323 


“ I do not fear Roberta. Her lesson has been 
a sufficient one. Sir, I will deal honorably and 
kindly with you, and for this end, I will speak 
plainly. I will not give you Roberta. I will 
never sanction a marriage between you. I think 
Roberta is so much my daughter as to refuse a 
marriage which God himself interfered to 
prevent. He separated you with His wind and 
His waves. You had planned for yourselves a 
dwelling in the Land of Love. He took you 
both to the Land of the Shadow of Death. If 
you did not learn there how dreadful a thing a 
disobedient and unequally yoked marriage is, 
Roberta learned the lesson. She comes. Let 
her speak both for herself and for you.” 

As he ceased, Roberta opened the door. She 
entered with a swift movement, holding her 
level palms and raised face toward Donald. He 
stretched out his arms, trembling — almost sob- 
bing with emotion — and she fled to them, as a 
brooding bird to its nest. Balfour glanced at 
their meeting faces ; both so beautiful, both so 


324 


Farewell, Love, 


full of love and sorrow ; and instead of separat- 
ing the lovers, he left them alone. He pitied 
their suffering; he had no wish to be a witness 
to it. 

He went into his study, and walked restlessly 
about. He could hear the murmur of their 
voices — Donald’s passionate pleading, Roberta’s 
sad, dissenting tones, and low, distressful weep- 
ing. He would not interfere. Whatever was 
their decision, they must reach it alone. Cer- 
tainly, he suffered with them. In spite of the 
trouble Donald had caused him, he liked the 
young man ; and though he called this liking ‘‘a 
weakness,” and reproved himself for indulging in 
it, it enabled him to understand his daughter's 
great love for Donald Torquil, and to pity her 
for it. 

He had told himself that he would give the 
lovers half an hour in which to comfort each 
other for their hard fate. When it was over, he 
went back to them. His glallce fell first upon 
Donald. Never had the youth looked so bril- 


Farewell, Love. 


325 


liantlj beautiful. His long sickness had given 
to his fine, fair face a singular delicacy, and the 
tide of life beneath shone through it, as a light 
through a Parian vase. He leaned against a tall 
black cabinet ; he was trembling with eagerness 
and feeling*; his hands were holding Roberta’s 
hands ; his eyes were fixed upon her ; he was 
pleading as men plead for the one true love that 
is granted them in this life. 

And if ever a woman is beautiful, it is in the 
presence of such an adorer. Balfour now under- 
stood his daughter’s marvelous charm. In that 
momentary glance he saw it all — the superbly 
tall, slender figure, in its straight, long robe of 
dark tartan ; the exquisitely formed and tinted 
face ; the large, dark, soulful eyes, drawing like 
a spiritual magnet the soul they looked into ; the 
shadowing cloud of black hair, falling in innu- 
merable waves and tendrils about her temples, 
throat and shoulders. It was an instantaneous 
picture of human loveliness, never to be forgot- 


ten. 


326 


Farewelly Love, 


He came toward them, and Donald turned 
pleadingly to him. 

Speak for me, sir!” he cried. ‘^Alas! I 
have no advocate but you. By the love of our 
dear, common God, have pity upon me I” 

“ Torquil, I have most pity on you when I say, 
what I see Roberta has already said : ‘ There 
can be no question of love between Donald Tor- 
quil and Roberta Balfour.’ ” 

Father, I said not that. There is love, undy- 
ing love, between Donald and myself. I said 
only that there could be no question of marriage 
between us.” 

“But the reason, sir? The reason? Is not 
true love the foundation of marriage ? Is there 
any other foundation but love ? I love Roberta, 
and she loves me.” 

“ There is the difference in your faith.” 

“ What have creeds to do with love? Love is 
above them. Whenever did love ask of any man 
or woman : * What church do you worship in ?’ ” 

“ True. It is faith that must ask what church 


■Farewell, Love, 


327 


love worships in. There is also the difference of 
race.” 

“ My love touches not such a small question. 
Race is for the body. I love Roberta with my 
soul. Our souls have one parentage — the 
Father of Spirits.” 

“ Donald ! Donald Torquil! Reason not with 
me. Conscience is above reason. Conscience is 
not to be moved either by pity or reason or favor. 
My conscience forbids this marriage. My God 
himself punished you both for its intention. 
Will He always remember mercy in His judg- 
ments ? We have no right to expect it. Do not 
dare again to provoke Him to anger.” 

Think you that God Almighty ordered the 
storm specially for our reproof ?” 

“ Yea ; lam sure of it.” 

** I think kinder and nobler things of my God. 
I read in my Bible that ^ Love and the way of 
good works are from Him.’* True love is of 
the nature of God, pure and eternal.” 


*Eccle. II.: 1 5. 


328 


Farewelly Love, 


“ Roberta, my child, say farewell to Donald 
Torquil. I forbid you to speak longer with him. 
Even now I have let a foolish tenderness pro- 
long an inevitable parting." 

I will never resign Roberta. She is my own 
beloved wife. She was born for me. No man 
can rob me of her and be innocent. My Roberta ! 
You will never forget me?" 

'‘Never! Never! Never, Donald! Never 
in life or eternity !" 

I am going to Canada. I know not for how 
long. Be sure, however, that sooner or later, I 
will come to claim you." 

He drew her to his breast and kissed her pale 
face and wet eyes — kissed her with the heart- 
breaking, holy tenderness with which we kiss 
the dead ; and resigning her to her father’s con- 
solation, left her so, without a word of farewell 
to him. But Balfour took no offense at the 
omission. He set his lips firmly, as he held 
Roberta in his arms, and watched Donald going 
with swinging, rapid steps to the Sea Bird. 


Farewell, Love, 


329 


Suddenly Roberta disengaged herself from 
her father’s embrace. She left the room and 
hastily fled up-stairs. In a few minutes she left 
the house. Balfour did not attempt to stay her. 
He divined her motive and understood that it 
would give an active finality to the parting. 

She followed Donald’s footsteps very quickly ; 
but the young man was in that frenzy of feeling 
which demands rapidity of action. When she 
reached the little pier, Angus was getting the 
canvas aloft, and the boat was going like a race- 
horse before the wind. Donald stood at the 
bow, with his face southward. A cry from 
Roberta made him quickly turn. He saw her 
on the very verge of the slip. Her arm was 
extended and in her hand there was a flutter of 
lawn, like the beating of a bird’s white wing. 
Her face, in the grayness of all around her, 
showed white as light. For the rain beat upon 
her blowing garments, and the wind blew back 
her hood and scattered her dark hair. She 
heeded nothing and she saw nothing but the 


330 


Farewell, Love, 


swiftly vanishing boat and the tall figure stand- 
ing bareheaded watching her. 

With an inexorable rapidity the boat drove on 
till she passed the point near by the rocky coast 
where Roberta had once faced death in Donald’s 
arms. The thought made the girl cry out in 
an agony of remorseful memory. How could 
she give him up? Her heart bitterly reproached 
her, as she went slowly homeward, weeping 
under her close-drawn hood and whispering to 
the wet, wild wind ; 

Farewell, love I Farewell, love F 




CHAPTER XVIII. 

AT THE LAST — PEACE. 

“ Sweet Mercy ! to the gates of Heaven, 

This mortal lead, his sins forgiven ; 

The rueful conflict, the heart riven, 

With vain endeavor ; 

And memory of earth’s bitter leaven. 

Effaced forever.” 

“ O ! fading honors of the dead i 
O ! high ambition lowly laid.” 

Time is a sword. It smites everything mortal 
— youth, beauty, delights of all kinds. And 
when a man has passed sixty years of age, how 
dark is the angle of life which remains to him ! 
And this, not because he has few joys, but 
because he has ceased to hope. He can no 


332 


At the Last — Peace, 


longer delude himself with a future which lies in 
the shadow of the grave. 

Sir Rolfe stood mournfully one day at the 
gates of Tasmer, feeling the full force of this 
truth. He had not realized his expectations, 
and he did not anticipate their more perfect ful- 
fillment. The men and the women of Torquil 
bens and Tasmer braes had disappeared. There 
were no barelegged children running about the 
straths, and no picturesque cottages overgrown 
with mosses and stonewort in the sheltered cran- 
nies; and there were thousands of sheep, and 
many perfectly built and symmetrical sheep- 
folds, but the change had brought him neither 
the wealth nor the satisfaction he had hoped. 

Lady Moidart had judged wisely that the 
clearance policy at Tasmer would be weakened 
by counteracting principles. Besides which, Sir 
Rolfe’s health — undermined by long residence in 
India — was unable to endure the cold of the 
mountains. In a large measure he had to leave 
everything to the supervision of shepherds and 


At the Last — Peace, 


333 


gamekeepers, who had no salutary fear of his 
personal inspection. 

And now there had come a sudden and 
critical change in his personal condition. He 
knew that morning, as he stood watching the 
gray old sea, that his days were numbered, and 
gravely solemn thoughts passed through the old 
knight’s mind. He looked over the Minch 
dimpling in the sunshine, and a swift and irresis- 
tible desire to feel the swell and motion of the 
ocean came to him. 

There had been for some years a growing 
hatred between the Torquil and the Melvich 
fishermen, and in the last season it had 
assumed a dangerous character. Melvich had 
just sold his estate ; what if he sailed as far as 
Melvich loch and saw the new proprietor? 
It would be wiser and kinder than to leave 
to Donald the inheritance of an unsettled 
quarrel. 

As these thoughts passed through his mind, 
Angus approached, and his unusual presence 


334 


At the Last — Peace. 


decided the baron. He bade the young fisher 
get the Sea Bird ready and go up the coast 
with him. Angus feared the Sea Bird Avas 

too long at anchor to be safe at aal and 
Sir Rolfe, who was easily made positive by a 
little opposition, sent him for his own fishing 
smack. 

As they sailed northward a handsome shoot- 
ing lodge, perched among the heather of Ben 
Sana, attracted Sir Rolfe’s notice, and he asked 
Angus, with a faint curiosity, if the new owner 
of Melvich had built it? 

“ They were saying it wass Lord Lenox 
built the lodge,” answered Angus ; “ and they 
were saying, mirover, that it iss aal the Mel- 
vich landt he hass peen puying ; for he iss a rich 
man, a rael rich man, and mirover, a mean man 
iss he. He hass the goldt, and he has the landt, 
put there iss not in aal Scotlandt so poor a 
man ass he iss ! For he will not pe spending 
anything at aal, and the rich wife he wass 
marrit on, she wass soon leafing him, and there 


At the Last — Peace, 


335 


were many padt wordts about it. Yes, inteet! 
Have you peen hearing of the trouble, sir ?” 

No one has spoken to me of it, Angus.’* 

They were saying — and it is the God’s truth, 
sir — they were saying that he wass a rael miser. 
He cleared hiss place, and then when the people 
were aal sent away he began to safe money, and 
the more he was safing then the more he wass 
wanting to safe. So it was house after house, 
acre after acre, as I haf peen toldt. ’Tis a poor 
way to pe spending one’s life, sir ! ’Tis a poor 
way, whateffer.” 

It is, indeed, Angus. Such men are the 
devil’s scorn and mockery, for they neither get 
this world nor yet escape the second death.” 

“ I am a ferry poor man myself, but I will not 
pe so poor a man as Lord Lenox is. No inteet, 
thank God !” 

“ There is a great difference between you and 
Lord Lenox, Angus. You are poor, and 
poverty is in want of some things. He is avari- 
cious, and avarice is in want of everything.” 


336 


At the Last — Peace, 


This conversation turned the baron’s thoughts 
back to the young man he had known seven 
years before. The events of that time looked 
far past. He remembered Lenox, full of ambi- 
tions, to which gold was to be only the stepping- 
stone. When they met he found that gold had 
become his god and the goal of all his aims. 
His finer qualities had evaporated in the strug- 
gle for it. He had forgotten all his enthusiasms 
and dissipated all his illusions. The sunrise for 
Lenox had melted into the light of common 
day ; the air was emptied of wonder ; his soul 
had fallen to the quality of the thing it 
worked in. 

He drove a hard bargain with Torquil. No 
memory of the baron’s hospitality or of the 
beautiful Sara, whom he had once loved as well 
as he could love any woman, softened it. Tor- 
quil left Melvich humbled and sad and full of 
vague regrets. When he got fairly out to 
sea a strang desire came to him. He wished to 
go to Ellerloch, and he bid Angus take the boat 


At the Last — Peace, 


337 


there. He wondered, indeed, over the strange 
impulse; but, then, a man has very little knowl- 
edge of himself who does not often regard his 
own thoughts and actions with wonder and 
curiosity. 

No distinct purpose was in his mind ; but as 
they voyaged onward in the calm of the summer 
day, in the starlight and the moonlight, listen- 
ing for miles and miles to the endless crash of 
the Alantic swell, the purpose formed itself 
clearly enough. He was sure of it when the 
boat ran into the little harbor in an afternoon 
rain-storm. Grim and lonely looked the small 
stone cabins, with their slate roofs shining in the 
heavy shower. But he took small note of the 
village. He left Angus with the boat, and 
walked straight to the minister’s house. Bal- 
four was out, and it was Roberta who welcomed 
their visitor. The tall, soldierly figure, though 
wan and much shrunken, struck her with admir- 
ation. When he spoke, his voice had tones and 
inflections which stirred her heart to tears. She 


338 


At the Last — Peace. 


insisted that he should take off his wet cloak ; 
she had the fire replenished ; she made him a 
cup of most refreshing tea. 

Sir Rolfe watched her movements with the 
greatest interest. He admired her beauty, and 
wondered a little over its uncommon type. For, 
if Roberta, at nineteen years of age, had been a 
lovely girl, she was, at twenty-three, a superbly 
perfect woman. A great, kind soul looked 
through her fathomless eyes ; her ways were 
exquisitely womanly ; her voice low and sweet ; 
her hands white and beautifully formed — hands 
made to help and caress. 

She had no idea of his identity and she talked 
to him with the utmost freedom. He admired 
her intelligence ; perhaps he admired still more 
the elegance and propriety of her dress. For 
Roberta had a native taste which always fitted 
itself to times and circumstances. The long, 
straying tresses, which had been so suitable to 
her girlhood, were now picturesquely braided 
and coiled, and added much to her stature and 


At the Last — Peace, 


339 


dignity. The dark tartan of her dress was of 
more ample length ; her collar was closed with 
a massive brooch of gold ; her manner was ^ 
grave and gentle, and her movements very 
graceful. She seemed to the baron the ideal of 
an exquisite womanhood, and she involuntarily 
stamped the purpose which had brought him to 
Ellerloch as desirable and excellent. 

He was sipping his tea and talking to her 
when the minister entered. Balfour’s face 
flushed at the sight, but his finer and nobler 
instincts instantly ruled. 

You are most welcome, Baron,” he said, and 
he frankly put his hand into the one offered him. 
Perhaps he was conscious of a slight reluctance, 
but it was instantly conquered. And in a few 
moments the two men sat together upon the 
same hearth ; the minister expectant, cautious, 
desirous of good will; the baron conciliating, 
anticipative of the next world, careless of the 
petty animosities of this one. 

The minister spoke first. 


340 


At the Last — Peace, 


“ Torquil, you have taken a long journey ?” 

“ I am about to take a much longer one, sir — 
even to * the Land very far off.’ I desired to 
speak to you before my departure.” 

There was a moment’s silence, and Sir Rolfe’s 
thin, wan face reddened vividly, as he con- 
tinued : 

I — I — I wish to say — pardon my ill words to 
you and of you. This confession alone can give 
me ease; it is the only adequate penance. A 
good Christian ought not to have spoken as I 
have done about you and yours.” 

‘‘I have been equally guilty, Baron. I ask 
your pardon, also.” 

The two men leaned toward each other ; they 
clasped hands, and the minister said some words, 
sacred, secret, confidential — no more to be 
spoken of than was that mysterious acknowl- 
edgment and pardon that must have taken 
place when the repentant Peter met the risen 
Christ by the Lake of Tiberius. 

In a short time Roberta entered with refresh- 


At the Last — Peace, 


341 


ments, and the conversation became more gen- 
eral. And never had Sir Rolfe been more lov- 
ing and charming. He told them incidents of 
his youth in India — tales of forlorn and desperate 
valor — stubborn fights with adverse circum- 
stances or desperate foes ; and with the light of 
victory on his face, kindled the cheeks of those 
who listened to him. Then he spoke of Tasmer, 
and of the deeds of his fierce ancestors — the 
bare-armed thanes of Ross, who had piled its 
massive masonry, and watched from its high 
walls the incursions of the great clans by which 
they were surrounded. 

Roberta rose as he finished ; she opened the 
piano, and, with a quick, nervous touch, struck 
from its keys the pibroch of his clan. No earthly 
music could have so deeply moved the old 
knight. He murmured the gathering song to it 
— a few words too fierce for any melody — the 
invocation of arming men to the bloody com- 
panies of the birds of prey. 

When the music ceased, both player and singer 


342 


At the Last — Peace, 


had said everything to each other’s hearts that 
could be said. With a kindly, kindling glance, 
the baron clasped Roberta’s hand in his own, and 
then bowed his head to kiss it. Roberta, with a 
quick divination of his intention, lifted her face 
and kissed him. She kissed him for that he was 
Donald’s father. She kissed him for his own 
charming lovableness. For, whatever the baron 
had been in the stress and struggle of life, he 
was now, when at the threshold of the grave, 
wonderfully childlike and Christlike. 

Roberta then left the two men alone. She 
could not but speculate on the purport of the 
baron’s visit to Ellerloch, and she could not 
avoid believing that it was a kind one to Donald 
and herself. Surely her father would be tender 
and reasonable with a dying man. Balfour 
wished to be so, but, even while Roberta was 
speculating about his attitude, the minister was 
assuring his conscience that he would not wrong 
it a tittle for any plea of mere human kindness. 

The baron sat silent, until the last vibrations 


At the Last — Peace, 


343 


of the stirring, war-like pibroch had died out of 
the atmosphere, then his first remark was a 
reflection upon the sympathy between music and 
life. 

“ Balfour,” he said, “ our life is very like music 
in one respect ; there is a constant wandering 
from the key-note in a thousand harmonies and 
combinations ; but the player always returns to 
the key-note at last.” 

“ And the key-note of a good life — is God.” 

Even so, Balfour. Let me carry out the 
simile. Quick melodies, without great devia- 
tions from the key-note, are like our pibrochs, 
joyous or stirring; slow melodies, which only 
reach it after painful dissonances and frequent 
changes, are sad. Do you understand ?” 

“ You mean that lives that never wander far 
from God are joyous and strong? You mean 
that those which only reach Him after long 
deviations into paths leading nowhere, and paths 
leading in wrong directions, are full of sadness 
and of many fears ?” 


344 


At the Last — Peace, 


“ That is what 1 mean. I have been a great 
wanderer, but I have reached the key-note 
again. The music of my life is nearly finished.” 

Then, with a sudden access of interest, he lifted 
his face quickly, and asked : 

“ What are we to do about our children T' 

The question was so abrupt that Balfour was 
startled by its imperative demand. He looked 
steadily at the baron, reflected a moment, and 
answered : 

‘‘We are to do right. Sir Rolfe ; we are to do 
right. We are to do what in the hour and arti- 
cle of death our souls will approve.” 

“Just so, Balfour. I was once bitterly 
opposed to Donald’s marriage with your 
daughter. That was when death was not in my 
thoughts. Now that we are ‘ familiars,’ 1 think 
differently ; now that I have seen Roberta Balfour 
I am anxious that Donald should have so fair, so 
good a woman for his wife. Do not deny them 
your sanction any longer. Donald may be home 
any day. Let him have your consent to visit 


At the Last — Peace, 


345 


Roberta. 1 would wish to welcome her to Tas- 
mer while I am yet its master. You see how 
short and frail my tenure now is.” And he 
stretched out his thin, white hands, and looked 
into Balfour’s face with eyes in which there was 
already the far-off look of a soul watching for its 
own eternity. 

I cannot speak in a hurry. I cannot prom- 
ise. I may sin away my child’s soul.” 

“ Only leave Roberta to her own conscience ; 
that is all I ask. You permit no one to dictate 
to your conscience ; give your daughter the same 
liberty. We are at the close of life. Shall our 
prejudices any longer darken their youth, and 
make bare and barren their days ? Balfour, it is 
a great injustice to them. I have been wrong 
and cruel. I have asked of God this favor; to 
right the wrong before I go away forever.” 

‘‘You trouble me, Torquil. You trouble me 
greatly. I must talk with my conscience. I 
must talk with my God. I wish to do right- 
only right.” 


346 


Ai the Last — Peace. 


“ I believe you. Can it be wrong for us to 
give our children the same liberty of conscience 
we claim as an inalienable right for ourselves ? 
They are of full age — they are responsible to 
God. Let us trust them. I am weary now. I 
have said what I came to say. Let me sleep — 
under your roof.” 

There was a moral grandeur in the humility 
of this request. Balfour was greatly touched 
by it. He gave the dying man his arm to lean 
upon. He assisted him in the removal of his 
raiment ; he softly repeated the Benediction at 
his bedside ere he left him. Torquil slept 
soundly and peacefully as a child. Balfour 
paced his study floor the whole night long. 
The baron had sheltered himself higher than all 
creeds, even in the infinite love of his Maker ; 
the minister had the restless pain of one who 
tries to confine the immortal spirit within the 
lines of a human creed. 

With the morning tide the baron left Eller- 
loch. He leaned upon Roberta’s arm as he 


At the Last — Peace. 


347 


walked to the pier, and he treated her as a 
daughter, though he never named Donald. At 
the last, the two men parted like those who trust 
in God and in each other. 

“We shall meet again, Torquil,” said the 
minister. 

“We shall meet again — somewhere — some 
day — in the kingdom of God. Farewell, 
Roberta.” 

Then as the boat left the pier, he waved his 
hand over the sparkling waters and said, with a 
smile: 

Is not this ‘ great sea ’ beautiful? But there 
is to be no sea there. Shall we not miss it, I 
wonder?” 

He was too far away to hear Balfour’s answer. 
The north wind and the flowing tide were driv- 
ing the boat before them. Balfour watched the 
tall figure, sitting motionless, with troubled 
eyes. He turned homeward with Roberta 
and was speechless. It was not until they 


348 


At the Last — Peace, 


reached the gate of the manse garden that 
Roberta said : 

‘‘Baron Torquil is a true nobleman. But is 
he not very ill, father ?” 

“ He is dying, but I think — I hope — yes, I 
truly believe, 

“ ‘ Into that dark, he takes with him a Light ; 

The Lamp that can illuminate the grave.’ ” 

When Sir Rolfe reached Tasmer again, he 
found that Sara and his little granddaughter 
Patricia had arrived during his absence. They 
were not unexpected. He was quite aware that 
the tone of his last letter to Sara would make 
her understand that his days were numbered. 
Her arrival was a great comfort, and her tender 
care of him probably prolonged his life. He 
was also greatly attached to Patricia. In the 
gloaming he generally asked for her, and the 
child expected and liked the visit. In her white 
night-dress she was laid in his arms, and he 
crooned softly to her, half-talking and half-sing- 
ing until the little maid was fast asleep. And 


At the Last — Peace. 


349 


often, when Sara came for the child, she 
found the baby hands clasping the Beads of 
Tasiner, and the dying grandfather praying 
above them. 

He seemed to tarry on earth only to see his 
son. But Donald was in a position where 
obedience to orders was imperative; and there 
was some necessary delay in procuring the 
authority which gave him freedom to return to 
Tasmer. But he came at last. Sir Rolfe heard 
Sara’s voice in joyous modulations, and he knew 
what it meant. She had been walking in the fir- 
wood, and had there met her brother. 

The meeting between father and son was 
solemnly affectionate ; and these few last days 
united them with an indissoluble bond. There 
was now perfect confidence between them. 
They spoke of Roberta ; and Donald received 
his father’s full approval of his choice. He 
made no allusion to the years which had been 
darkened by opposition and exile. A sweet 
restraint forbade all reproach. He apprehended 


350 


At the Last — Peace. 


that his father had also suffered disappointment 
and loneliness. Both had forgiven. At the last 
there was a great love and a great peace. 

One night, just at sunset, he spoke to Donald 
about the “ clearance.’’ It was the only time he 
named it. His eyes filled with their last tears as 
he said : 

“ It was a mistake ; it was a great wrong ; it 
was a great failure, Donald. I gave fifty pounds 
to assist in sending my people from me. I 
Avould give fifty thousand pounds to see them 
on Tasmer braes again.” 

“ If ever I have the power I will bring them 
back, father.” 

“ You promise?” 

“ Solemnly !” 

‘‘ For the peace of my soul, do it.” 

Then he sent Donald away and asked for 
Patricia. The child was asleep in his arms 
when Sara came, half an hour afterward, for 
her. Father and daughter smiled in each other’s 
face, as the babe was lifted from the old arms ; 


At the Last — Peace, 


351 


for, to a lonely father, a daughter is very dear, 
and Sara sat close to Sir Rolfe’s heart. It was 
their last “ good-night.” It was their parting 
smile. 

An hour afterward Father Matthew entered 
the room. As the baron was absent, he sup- 
posed him to be engaged in the oratory, and he 
sat down to wait. But after a little while he 
became sensible of that strange silence which 
accompanies death. He stood up and listened 
intently. There was no movement. There was 
no echo of sigh or prayer. He pushed aside the 
door very gently. Sir Rolfe lay upon his face, 
at the foot of the great white crucifix, with the 
ivory beads in his hand. His cold fingers 
marked the last '' Our Father ” which his lips 
had said. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

THE SECRET OF THE BEADS. 

“ For modes of Faith, let graceless zealots fight ; 

He can’t be wrong whose life is in the right.” 

So, Sir Rolfe died, and so, in his last years, he 
would have desired to go. Yet Donald remem- 
bered how once, when he was a lad, he had heard 
his father wish to die as a soldier — “ with tumult, 
with shouting, and Avith the sound of the trum- 
pet.” But who has the oracle of his death ? 
Only God knows the place and the manner in 
which a soul shall meet its latest enemy. 

They had all loved him dearly. He had true 
friendship, and, in the main, affectionate 
obedience; yet, before the majesty of death, each 
living soul of his household bowed itself humbly, 
and acknowledged : “ I have done too little.” 



THE BARON CEASPED ROBERTA’S HAND .— Page 343 . 











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The Secret of the Beads. 


353 


In the long past centuries when it was unsafe 
to let their neighbors know that the head of the 
clan was dead, the Torquils had begun to bury 
their dead at midnight. For unnumbered gen- 
erations it had been the custom, and Sir Rolfe 
had expressed a wish to have it conformed to in 
his own case. It was then necessary to keep the 
dead for many days. Friends were to notify, and 
facilities were few and slow. It was not until 
midnight of the eighth day after his death that 
Sir Rolfe was laid among his forefathers. Dur- 
ing these eight days, he lay in the room which 
he had mostly occupied. The August sun fell 
brightly upon his worn, white face; the fresh 
winds from the ocean blew over it. How tran- 
quil, how distant, how grandly, terribly differ- 
ent he was ! But his lips kept, until the last 
moment, the faint, glad smile of one who had 
died dreaming of heaven. 

The burial night was still and warm. There 
was no moon, and at midnight every fisher and 
shepherd having the least claim to a drop of the 


354 


The Secret of the Beads. 


Torquil blood came up to Tasmer. Each 
carried a blazing torch ; and in this fitful light 
they carried Baron Rolfe to his resting-place in 
Torquil church-yard. All the midnight spaces 
were filled with the heavenly, peaceful echoes of 
the burial service recited in a solemnly trium- 
phant voice by Father Matthew. When it was 
finished, every man extinguished his torch at the 
grave-side, and, with a silent lifting of their 
bonnets in a last “ farewell ” to the dead chief, 
they scattered, 

Sara was weeping on her husband’s arm. 
Donald looked down into the grave with tear- 
less eyes, but his heart shuddered constantly as 
he watched torch after torch extinguished in the 
open, narrow house, which was soon to be 
closed forever. At length the light was nearly 
gone ; he was conscious that only one torch 
remained. Some one on the opposite side of the 
grave held it. He looked up, and saw it was in 
the hand of Balfour. Roberta stood by his side, 


The Secret of the Reacts. 


355 


It was the first glimpse of her dear face he had 
had for years. 

Their eyes met in one long, loving, sorrowful 
gaze ; involuntarily Donald stretched out his 
hand ; involuntarily Roberta touched it. They 
met — they clasped above the grave — above the 
closed coffin of the kind old knight who had 
pleaded their cause so well. 

The act, simple and touching, and full of a sad 
significance, powerfully affected Balfour. He 
took his daughter’s hand and turned toward the 
gate of the inclosure. As they trod silently the 
narrow path, some one spoke, some one touched 
Roberta’s arm and stayed them. It was Sara, 
In a voice trembling with sorrow, she said : 

“ Mr. Balfour. My brother has often been 
your guest. Come up to the castle with us, 
to-night — you and Miss Balfour.” 

“We cannot.” 

He spoke with difficulty, and with a decision 
that seemed unkind, but which was really the 
result of a tumult of feeling he was trying to 


356 


The Secret of the Beads. 


control. Sara and Mr. Maclane urged him a 
little, and, during the passing conversation, 
Donald took Roberta’s hand. Before her 
father — before his sister and his friends — with 
the priest standing near, he lifted her face 
and solemnly kissed it there. It was a new 
betrothal. It was a promise to which he called 
as witnesses the dead and the living of his house. 
It was a fresh claim upon Roberta, and Balfour 
was almost angry at the advantage which it 
gave to Donald. 

After that kiss it was easy to refuse the hos- 
pitality of Tasmer. In short, he would not be 
persuaded by any plea of Maclane’s good feel- 
ing, nor of Sara’s courtesy, nor of Donald’s love. 
He was, indeed, a little irritated by the discus- 
tion, and he said not a word to his daughter, as 
they journeyed over the cheerless sea, depressed 
by the infinite solitude of the dark waters and 
the still greater solitude of hearts, each nursing 
its own sense of wrong. 

On the whole, however, the minister had 


The Secret of the Beads. 


357 


acted with dignity and prudence. Donald and 
Reberta, in that swift, unconsidered, unsanc- 
tioned reassertion of their love over the grave 
of the late baron, had placed him in a position 
that did not permit him dissent at the time ; and 
which, therefore, assumed his approval. 

He was not by any means sure that he could 
approve their marriage. Sir Rolfe’s plea had 
touched, but it had not convinced him. As 
soon as he arrived at Ellerloch he wrote to a 
church in Edinburgh, which had long desired 
his services, and accepted its call. 

Roberta received the intelligence with a look 
of reproach. 

Do you not trust me, father, even yet ?” she 
asked. 

I wish to take you out of temptation, 
Roberta.” 

“ You wish to take me away from Donald ?” 

“ Yes.” 

- Why?” 


35^ The Secret of the Beads, 


** Is there any reason to ask that question 
again ? I have answered it to you often.” 

‘‘You have answered it to me, father; now 
answer it to your own heart. Is Donald’s faith 
really the great stumbling-block you imagine it 
to be ? Are you not in some measure afraid of 
what Aunt Helen and all my cousins will say ? 
Of what the ministers of your synod will say ? 
Yea, of what these poor villagers in Ellerloch 
will say ? Be just to Donald. Be just to your- 
self and to me.” 

Every question was like a sword-thrust to 
him ; but he gave no sign of his spiritual wound. 
His face was a little sterner only as he added : 

“ Before I sanction your marriage with Donald 
Torquil, I must have the assurance of my con- 
science that I am doing right.” 

“ Father, for nearly five years you have been 
seeking this assurance. If I was really doing 
wrong, would not the sin have been clear to you 
long before this ? When 1 really disobeyed you 
— when I really deceived you — when I really 


The Secret of the Beads, 


359 


sinned against your love and confidence, was 
there any need of this search? You — and I also 
— had a consciousness of it, swift and sure. We 
had no need to argue or to search about it. I 
broke the fifth command, and I came very near 
to losing that long life which is the promise of 
its observance. Father, you must not go to all 
sorts of theological books about Donald and^me. 
What have synods and institutes and creeds to 
do with our love T 

You speak without knowledge.'' 

I speak as my heart speaks. I am faithful to 
my conscience. I ask the blessing of God upon 
my love. Is there any other or any greater 
law?" 

If events stopped with ourselves, if — " 

Ah, then it is as I said ! You fear what this 
person and that person will suspect? You fear 
to have your motives misunderstood? You 
think people will never know how firmly you 
have opposed my marriage, or if they do, that 
they will say : ‘ Minister Balfour has made his 


360 


The Secret of the Beads, 


daughter Lady Torquil at last ; you see that 
every conscience has its price.’ Are not these 
things so, father ?” 

Roberta, who gave you liberty to probe 
your father’s conscience ? To imagine his 
motives and invent his difficulties ?” 

He left her with these questions unanswered, 
and went into his study to hide the pain her 
analysis had caused him. 

Roberta had divined much that the minister 
had always refused to be separately conscious 
of. There are in every soul some dark corners 
full of unacknowledged, underlying motives. 
To have them dragged into the light of con- 
science and the light of discussion is not a pleas- 
ant experience. Balfour was at first exceed- 
ingly irritated by it. But above every other 
thing, the man was a just man. He was even 
more severe with his own recognized faults than 
he was with those of any other person. He was 
compelled by the integrity of his nature to ans- 
wer Roberta’s questions to himself; and it was 


The Secret of the Beads, 361 

with humiliation he admitted that there was 
much truth in their interrogatory. 

After all, Roberta and Donald were now 
answerable to God. He might counsel, but 
their souls were of age, and amenable to God’s 
reward or punishment. Frequently he had 
spoken bitterly of the priests of the Romish 
Church assuming the charge of souls, and 
requiring nothing from their people but implicit 
obedience to the commands of the Church. He 
had said : Souls are to be judged individually ; 
they must be permitted individual judgment.” 
This very thing he had been denying to his 
child with a persistent stubbornness. The fact 
was suddenly clear to him. 

I have been wrong !” And he made the 
acknowledgment with a slow, distinct emphasis, 
staying his walk up and down his study floor to 
utter the Avords. “ I have been jealous of my 
authority, spiritual and temporal. I have feared 
the opinions of my sister, and of my nephews 
and nieces, of my fellows in the ministry, of all 


362 


The Secret of the Beads. 


and sundry who know me. I have called it 
‘ the fear of God it has been very much the 
fear of man. Mercifully, both repentance and 
works meet for repentance are yet possible. 
Now I will leave Donald and Roberta to the 
commands of their own consciences; and if I 
have not the authority, well, then, neither have 
I the responsibility.” He made the surrender 
freely, without anger, but he permitted himself 
some compensating comfort in the thought that 
Donald could not marry for a year after his 
father’s death, and that for so long yet his child 
would be under his own influence. And 
as to what may happen in a year, who can 
tell?” 

The last thought was not a kind one in its 
essence, but he put it away without any indul- 
gence of it. And though he did not enter into a 
formal renunciation of his past feelings, or 
express in so many words the change which had 
taken place — not in his opinions, but in the 
application of his opinions — Donald and Roberta 


The Secret of the Beads. 


363 


understood that he had accepted the fact of 
their marriage, and was inclined to hope they 
were at least justified in their own consciences. 
Neither expected more than this. Balfour’s 
nature was of the quality of his country’s gran- 
ite. When young, he had been hewn with hard 
tools into a certain form ; a grand, massive 
form, that would not, perhaps, be improved by 
chipping off a corner here and there. 

The move to Edinburgh was now fully deter- 
mined on, and Balfour took a sudden dislike to 
the lonely, misty village in which he had spent 
so many happy and sorrowful days. Every one 
has experienced these rapid changes of feeling 
toward places, houses, people, certain kinds of 
work, certain opinions. The soul which has 
been unconsciously growing, becomes in a night, 
as it were, ripe for change — for a wider arena, a 
keener life — it may be, a sharper sorrow — just 
as a sudden frost will give sudden ripeness to 
the grain. 

He went to Edinburgh and took a house befit- 


364 


The Secret of the Beads, 


ting the position his new church gave him. 
Then he recognized that he had long been fam- 
ishing for books, and he satisfied his longing 
with an extravagant generosity. He was impa- 
tient to complete his change of life. He 
appeared to be suddenly younger, more impos- 
ing in appearance, quicker in his movements ; he 
had cast the past behind, he was turning to the 
future, strong with the lessons the past had 
taught him. 

The move was propitious to the lovers. Dur- 
ing the winter months it was almost impossible 
to travel between Ellerloch and Tasmer, but com- 
munication with Edinburgh was comparatively 
easy and quick. Indeed, Donald no sooner 
heard of the minister’s intention, than he began 
to contemplate spending the winter in the capi- 
tal, in the constant society of Roberta. The 
great drawback to this plan was the want of 
ready money. He had come to his inheritance, 
and found himself poor, and soon he discovered 


The Secret of the Beads, 


365 


that the estate was in the hands of authorized 
robbers. 

The first tenet of service is to serve itself, and 
the servants of Tasmer had been exceedingly 
faithful to their own interests. Everything had 
been favorable to their dishonesty. For a long 
time the late baron had neither had the power 
nor the inclination to investigate his affairs. 
They were purposely made complex and fatigu- 
ing, and, as his wants were small, he was per- 
mitted a sufficient sum of money to satisfy them 
— a wise generosity on the part of the lactor and 
the head shepherd and game-keeper, as it pre- 
vented all inquiries and explanations. Donald’s 
absence made their system of spoliation easy, 
for Father Contach thought only of the baron’s 
spiritual welfare, and Maclane seldom came to 
Tasmer, and could hardly when there discuss 
with his father-in-law the income of his estate. 

But Donald was soon suspicious of the truth, 
and it did not take him long to understand the 
shameful schemes which had puzzled the sick 


366 


The Secret of the Beads, 


and weary Sir Rolfe ; and as Donald had no 
toleration for theft, the unfaithful servants were 
quickly placed within the discipline of the law. 
Financially, however, Donald derived no satis- 
faction from this movement ; the men were 
Celts, selfish and greedy, and fully prepared to 
keep a tight grip upon their stolen property. 

It was in this total want of faithful service, in 
this cruel realization that honor and honesty are 
not to be hired out, that Donald remembered with 
tears and longing the men and women who 
had been sent away to make room for these 
clever, unscrupulous managers. Oh, for the 
trusty Fergus once more in the castle ! Oh, for 
the trusty Torquils on the fells with the sheep, 
and on the heather with the game ! They might 
be slow, but they were the souls of piety and 
fidelity. 

Under the new order of things there had been 
a gradual influx of strangers from the coast of 
Ireland. They were pushing and energetic ; 
they had made Torquil a fine lobster fishing 


The Secret of the Beads. 


2>^7 


station, but they offended Donald wherever he 
saw them— offended him, though they bowed 
down to him with the most cringing humility, 
and had for his ears only the words of flattery 
and compliment. For they had possession of 
the best cottages and the best boats and the best 
fishing-grounds, and the native race had fallen 
back as they encroached. 

Donald regarded these things with a passion- 
ate regret, and Roberta shared all his anger and 
all his longings. They sat hours over Donald’s 
plans and estimates, considering the yield of the 
game and the land and the wool, and calculating 
how much yearly could be saved toward bring- 
ing home the Torquils. For, from the very 
hour ot his succession, this hope and end had 
been in the heart of the new master of Tasmer. 

Both were, however, aware that little could 
be done until after their marriage. As long as 
Roberta was in Ellerloch, the Sea Bird was 
traveling between Tasmer and Ellerloch. 
When Roberta removed to Edinburgh, Donald 


368 


The Secret of the Beads, 


found himself unable to do anything without 
consulting her. And neither of them thought 
it possible to shorten the term of mourning for 
Sir Rolfe. They felt it imperative to give all 
the ceremonious respect to his memory, which 
his relationship and his position demanded of 
them in the public mind. 

But Donald had many a weary hour. He 
had been compelled to call in the help of lawyers 
and accountants, and they were daily making his 
great losses more and more clear to him. The 
new servants resented the unaccustomed watch 
over them, and gave little satisfaction, and his 
military training was not, perhaps, the best 
preparation for the circumstances in which he 
was placed. He himself was prompt and faith- 
ful in all his duties; and he had been obedient 
to his superiors when his service demanded it. 
He expected from others the excellencies which 
they did not possess inherently, and which had 
not been cultivated in them. 

These seem to be prosaic and very ordinary 


The Secret of the Beads. 


369 


trials, but it is precisely such trials which are 
hardest to bear. When a man fights with his 
equal, his spirits rise to the encounter ; whether 
he conquer or fail, he feels no degradation. 
But a daily, hourly fight with inferiors is a dif- 
ferent thing. Intellect must stoop to match 
itself with vulgar cunning ; honor and truth 
have to meet covert enmity and fathomless 
deception. Such an ignoble fight greatly 
depresses a noble soul — the weapons its enemy 
uses are not in its armory ; it has to study the 
tactics of fear, hatred and envy, in order to 
defeat them. Donald would far rather have 
ridden in the van of an invading army, than 
been compelled to buckle down to such a worry- 
ing defense of his own rights and such an irritat- 
ing prosecution of the wrong-doing of others. 

^Upon Christmas Eve he was suffering from an 
accumulation of annoyances, and Angus had 
unwittingly added the last drop to the cup of 
petty injustice and mortification mingled for 
him. 


370 


The Secret of the Beads. 


“ Here is a gold sovereign for you, Angus, and 
I hope you will have a very happy Christmas 
feast,” he said. 

“ It iss ferry gladt I am of the sovereign, sir. 
I wass safing aal my money to pring home again 
my grandtfather and my grandtmother. A ferry 
poor time they are hafing, sir, and it iss old they 
are: and thinking, mirover, of the graves of Tor- 
quil. They will not pe resting in any other 
place whateffer, sir.” 

Donald did not answer. A great wave of feel- 
ing — partly anger — stirred him. Then he 
remembered the holy festival close at hand, and 
was ashamed and sorry. The bell was ringing 
in the little church, and he went down there and 
offered the sacrifice of thanksgiving. When he 
returned home there was a large fire of blazing 
logs on the hearth, and he sat down before it and 
began to think on many things. 

Presently, when his heart was very tender- 
being full of gratitude for Roberta’s love, and 
full of hope in that he trusted to bring back 


The Secret of the Beads, 


371 


again his banished kin — he went into the oratory 
and lifted the ivory Beads of Tasmer. He 
thought of the men and the women whose claim 
upon them had once been as strong as his own, 
and the tremendous solidarity of the two worlds 
— of the dead and the living — was present to his 
conception in a strikingly personal manner. 
The Communion of Saints ! The indivisibility 
of the Church militant and the Church tri- 
umphant! Oh, the unspeakable riches of that 
grace which made him partaker, even in this life, 
of the hope and the love of the holy dead 1 

Suddenly a few words that Father Contach 
had spoken that night to his people came to him 
with wonderful force : 

Take your morsel of bread and put it in the 
Lord’s hand for a blessing, and you shall eat and 
be satisfied. When the tide comes in, it fills the 
great caves as easily as the small sand-ripples. 
Hold out both hands and God will fill them. 
And, if the strait is a great one, God has special 
helps for special occasions.” 


372 


The Secret of the Beads, 


How good the promise of such words! He 
let it fill his heart with gladness, as he knelt 
humbly before the great crucifix, standing white 
and solemn in the fitful light of the fire. Lost in 
meditation, he remained until the sense of pres- 
ence " was sweetly intense. Then he bowed his 
whole soul to this majesty of the Unseen; for his 
faith was too sincere to refuse the consolation 
of the mysterious. 

‘‘ I have been visited,” he said, joyfully, and 
his fingers touched the large bead for the first 

Our Father.” 

It parted between his fingers as he held it. 
His very soul shuddered as he felt the separa- 
tion, but he completed the prayer, and then rose 
and looked at the broken bead. As he did so his 
eyes grew fixed and large, a bright color spread 
over his face, and after a few moments’ intent 
gaze, he clasped his hands in adoration of 
wonder and delight. 

For the broken bead revealed the secret 


The Secret of the Beads, 


373 


which the Tasmer Rosary had faithfully ;^kept 
for seven hundred years. The beads were all 
composed of two parts, so exquisitely fitting 
that only oriental patience and ingenuity could 
have fashioned them. And the ivory was but 
the shell. In the interior of each bead there 
was an uncut gem of great value. 

As each bead yielded its treasure to Donald’s 
efforts, his soul was more and more joyful. He 
foresaw now the fulfillment of all his hopes : the 
home-bringing of the Torquils from exile ; the 
building of new cottages for them ; the real 
improvement of the estate ; Roberta’s dreams of 
a school for the children, of a hospital for the 
sick, of a home for the homeless ; all the wells 
of comfort that were to be the gift of the Beads 
of Tasmer. 

At last they lay before him — sixty-three 
jewels — a glittering company of rubies and 
diamonds. And he stood up before God and 
thanked Him joyfully because that from among 
all the sons of his race he had been chosen to 


374 Secret of the Beads, 

dispense the gift of Knight Murdo’s Rosary. 
And he opened the small sandal-wood box which 
had kept so long the prophecy of The Beads/’ 
and read aloud with the glad confidence of faith 
turned into sight : 

“ Tellen these trewe wordse : 

Whaune Tasmer's fortune shalle wane and faide 
Thaune aske of the Beads of Tasmer aide.” 




CHAPTER XX. 

BRINGING HOME THE BRIDE. 

Hail, Love ! the Death-defyer ! age to age 
Linking with flowers in the still heart of man ; 

Dream to the Bard and marvel to the Sage ! 

Glory and mystery since the world began.” 

“ With her womanly beauty and queenly calm 

She steals to my heart with a blessing of balm ; 

And O, but the wine of Love sparkles with foam ! 

When I come home, when I come home, 

Home, home, when I come home !” 

Early in the morning he started for Edinburg, 
with the gems next his heart. He went straight 
to Roberta. She heard his voice and step, and 
came hastily to meet him. With hands 
extended, she stopped 'at the sight of his face. 
The glory of some strange, great blessing was 


37^ Bringhtg Home the Bride. 


on it Donald took her in his arms. He could 
not speak, but she knew by his smile, by his 
radiant presence, by the joyful confidence of his 
manner, that some \Yonderful thing had come to 
him. 

They went together to the parlor. Donald 
took the precious packet from his breast, and 
spread out the jewels before her. They were 
too excited for much speech. The splendor and 
the wonder of the gift! The sudden granting of 
all their desires! What words could express 
their amazement and their gratitude 

“ You will go for the Torquils now, Donald ?” 

“ At once, dearest.” 

They are to have new and far better cot- 
tages ?” 

“We will plan them together. They shall be 
as you desire.” 

“And the school, and the — ” 

“ You shall make all your dreams come true.” 

“I wish they knew about it. Write at once, 
Donald.” 


Bringing Home the Bride, 


377 


“ No ; I will go at once. They would not 
comprehend a letter.” 

“ Then you will go very soon ?” 

“ As soon as I have turned the jewels into 
gold, and set builders to work on the homes for 
them. All the cottages pulled down at Easter- 
Torquil shall be rebuilt. Oh, I hope old Hector 
is alive, to lead the people back again.” 

“ Let us tell my father.” 

The minister was in his study. He had been 
filling his soul with the pathetic importunity of 
Baxter and the Platonic loftiness of Howe ; and 
when Roberta said : “ Donald has found sixty- 
three rubies and diamonds in the Beads of Tas- 
mer, and he is going to bring home all the Tor- 
quils from America, and build them new houses 
and a school, and make them happy and pros- 
perous forever,” he looked up at her with a 
faint smile, and answered : 

“ All this would never be said, except in a 
dream, Roberta.” 


378 Bringing Home the Bride, 


“ It is true ! It is true ! Come down-stairs 
and see.” 

Then Balfour went with his daughter, and his 
amazement was quickly amenable to reason. 
Humanity understands seeing better than 
believing. 

Preparatory arrangements were quickly made, 
and Donald landed at Quebec early in February, 
and with all possible speed reached the small 
Scotch settlement sixty miles inward. The 
weather was bitterly cold, the country lonely 
and depressing. Only after three days’ hard 
riding did he come in sight of the squalid log 
huts which bore the name of New Tasmer. 

He was alone and on horseback, and it was 
the afternoon. There was a small inn at the 
entrance of the village, and his heart smote him 
when he saw the name “ Donald Torquil ” above 
the door. Namesake and kin, and yet so far 
from home — so far away from home ! 

A man whom he did not recognize took his 
horse, and pointed out to him the public door. 


Brt7tging Home the Bride. 


379 


“ Christine Torquil iss inside, sir, and she will 
pe gifing you a welcome, sir.” 

He went into the cabin, and stood for a 
moment looking at Christine. She was card- 
ing wool, and rocking the cradle of her babe 
with her foot. Ere he could speak, she began 
to sing. The soft, sibilant Gaelic had an inex- 
pressibly mournful sound ; the words were full 
of tears. Donald’s eyes filled as their meaning 
smote his heart : 

“ From the lone shieling of the misty island 
Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas; 

Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland 
And we in dreams behold the Hebrides. 

Fair these broad meads, these hoary woods are grand ; 
But we are exiles from our native land !” 

“ Christine ! Christine ! I am come to take 
you back again !” 

She rose, white and trembling, and looked at 
the young man. He had been well known to 
her in the old days, and she had not forgotten 
him. She let her wool and cards fall to the 


380 Bringing Home the Bride, 


ground ; she took his hands and kissed them ; 
she murmured, amid broken sobs, passionate 
welcomes and loving ejaculations. Donald 
answered her in Gaelic. The sound of the dear 
words on his tongue completed her joy. She 
made him sit down by the fire, and began to 
prepare him food and a warm drink. 

“ It iss ferry poor I am. Sir Tonalt. My man 
iss gone away from me ; ’tis three months since 
he went away.” 

“ And where has he gone, Christine ?” 

“ He iss gone from hence to death ; in the 
Friday to holy heaven. O ! hon a rie ! O ! hon 
a rie ! My prave Tonalt iss gone away ! It iss 
no more he will pe seeing the purple coasts of 
Skye and Rona, nor the plue peaks of Harriss 
peyont the gray Minch.” 

“ Is old Hector Torquil still alive, Christine?” 

He iss ferry well. His son Hugh iss gone 
away aalso ; but he iss not seeing ferry much 


now. 


B^Hiiging Home the Bride, 381 


Send to every cabin and tell the people to be 
at Hector Torquil’s this night at seven o’clock.” 

Quickly flew the word from home to home. 

“ The Torquil hass come; he hass come him- 
self ! We are going pack home, mirover !” 

To Hector, Donald carried the news of his 
own arrival. The old soldier had aged much. 
He was sitting very quiet, his hands leaning on 
his staff, his head bowed above them, his eyes 
closed. Dreams of his stirring youth were fill- 
ing the silent chambers of his brain. Behind his 
closed eyes he was seeing pictures of his native 
hills ; mountains and mountains of amethyst, 
lights and shadows coming and going all day 
over them ; vales of emeralds here and there, and 
leaping streams of silver, at sunrise turning to 
rivers of gold. Oh, for the laughter and the 
storm of the ocean ! Oh, for the corries misty 
with blue-bells! Oh, for the little brown huts 
nestling in the shadow of the mountains, and the 
plaided human creatures, with collie dogs and 
flocks of sheep moving to and fro among them! 


382 


Bringing Home the Bride, 


It was from such a dream Donald awakened 
him. 

“ Itiss the Tor quit r he cried. “ Bless God, it 
is the voice of the Torquil /” And when Donald 
said, joyfully: “Hector! Hector Torquil!” 
the old man rose to his feet, erect and alert, as 
it he had been at roll-call, and answered with a 
glad promptness ; 

“ Here, here, Sir Tonalt ! ” 

And what a congregation gathered that night 
in Hector’s cabin ! What joy to see again the 
head of their sept! What unspeakable joy to 
hear him say : 

“ Come back home. Come, all of you. There 
is enough for every Torquil on Torquil’s land.” 

Donald stood in the midst of the room, and 
the men were gathered bare-headed around him. 
Most of them were of lofty stature, but Donald 
was taller than any ; and glengary on his head, 
with the eagle’s feather in front, added a noble, 
native grace to his beautiful form. Suddenly, 
he lifted the cap from his bright, curling hair, 


Bringing Home the Bride, 383 


and, standing thus, with a voice tuned to glad 
and sweet solemnity, he told them there the his- 
tory of the Beads of Tasmer, and of the miracu- 
lous happiness and prosperity they had brought 
to the household of the Torquils. It was a story 
that touched these simple, pious peasants to spir- 
itual enthusiasm. Faith was to them an easy 
eftort of the mind. The more impossible a thing 
was, the more necessity there was for spiritual 
help ; and spiritual help was the help they most 
of all trusted in. The old Rosary, the ancient 
path of prayer ! Was it not the very way of the 
angels ? 

“ Peace! Peace to Knight Murdo’s soul !” said 
old Hector, solemnly. “ Those peyont have not 
forgotten us. They haf peen sorry for our sor- 
row, now they are gladt in our joy.” 

It was not considered wise to move at once. 
All possessed some trifle of property which they 
could dispose of. A few had cleared land, and 
began to like the independence of their new life. 


384 Bringing Home the Bride, 


Donald assisted such to still further improve 
their condition. 

But the majority had tasted the word 
“ home*' in their hearts, and the idea grew 
swiftly to a passionate longing, which nothing 
but the misty headlands of the Minch and the 
Hills of Ross could satisfy. They were 
impatient for the spring and for the ship which 
Donald was to send to Quebec for them. 

Rapidly the months flew by. It had seemed 
at first as if the year’s delay would be hard to 
get over. But time well-filled goes very 
quickly. After Donald’s return there was a 
constant journeying between Tasmer and Edin- 
burg. He had to consult Roberta about every- 
thing done. She drew the plans of the new 
cottages and of the pretty school-house, though 
Father Contach and Minister Balfour both gave 
their advice in the matter. 

And there had to be new industries set on 
foot for the employment of the home-coming 
men. The game and the sheep, the lobster and 


Bringing Home the Bride, 


385 


the deep-sea fishing' were to be arranged on a 
basis profitable to all. The castle was to 
refurnish throughout. For Roberta’s special 
pleasure a large conservatory was to be built. 
Donald went to sleep every night happily 
wearied out. 

It was in these days he discovered, for the 
first time, the blessedness of hours brim full of 
work. 

“ I will never be idle again,” he said to Father 
Contach. 

And the Father pointed out the fact that he 
never could be if he continued to do his duty. 
He would be compelled to plan, to order, to 
supervise all the works he had laid out for the 
daily employment of his people. 

“ Fifty or sixty families will take their bread 
from your hand, Donald,” he said ; you will be 
responsible for their well-doing. You are to 
marry a wife and be responsible for her happi- 
ness. You must live now for the future as well 


386 Bringing Home the Bride. 


as for the present; for others as well as for 
yourself/’ 

It was in the early days of autumn that Donald 
brought home his bride — those golden Septem 
ber days when the air is fine and subtle, and the 
amber rays shine through the shining branches. 
The castle garden was full of the splendid 
glories of dahlias and hollyhocks, of the scents 
of sweet-brier and southernwood, and of all 
kinds of nameless perfumes — emanations ot the 
earth, of the trunks of trees, of the ripened 
fruit, of the turning foliage. Old ocean laughed 
with incalculable dimples. The birds were 
singing their latest songs in the woods. From 
the church-tower in the village the bells sent 
forth a grave, sweet harmony, dilating in the 
air, wandering up to the castle-turrets and far 
out to sea. As the morning advanced, a soft 
yellow light fell like a glorious veil over earth 
and ocean, making the mountains more like 
clouds at sunsetting than real things. 

There had been in Edinburgh a solemnly 


Brmging Home the Bride, 


3§7 


quiet, religious ceremony, in which Minister 
Balfour himself joined the hands of his daughter- 
and Sir Donald Torquil. Only Sara and 
Maclane and a few of Roberta’s kindred had 
been present. A very blissful service it had 
been, and Donald and Roberta, for themselves, 
could have desired no nobler, no more blessed 
sacrament of their love than that touching 
service in the manse parlor. 

But others had to be taken into consideration, 
and it was necessary for the Torquil to take his 
bride also by the ancient faith, in which his 
fathers had lived and died ; and so, by its bless- 
ing, make Roberta indeed mistress of Tasmer. 
In a little gray church where the old religion 
had built itself a shrine, even in the city of John 
Knox, Father Contach was waiting for them. 
With infinite love and solemnity he joined their 
hands in the irrevocable tie of the Church. And 
thus they went forth to their new life, with its 
obligations bound to them by holy prayers, and 
its delights sanctified by holy blessings. 


3 38 Bringing Home the Bride, 


It had been resolved to hold the bride-feast in 
Tasmer, and to call all the clan and all the 
neighbors together for this festival. Sara and 
Maclane took charge of the preparations for 
this home-coming, and Nature crowned them 
with the gift of a few days of heavenly beauty. 
Early on the morning of the happy day, the ris- 
ing mist revealed the Minch covered with boats, 
all making for Torquil pier. They were filled 
with men in their Sabbath clothing and with 
women in white caps, and lasses snooded with 
ribbons. For every man, woman and child of 
the Torquil blood, and all the Torquils who had 
intermarried with the MacFarlanes or the Mac- 
kenzies, were coming to Sir Donald Torquil’s 
bridal feast. 

They filled the cottages to overflowing, and 
found amusement enough in the fact of their 
, rare meeting and in watching the constant 
arrival of the gentry in trig yachts or in fine car- 
riages. At ten in the morning the bells rang 
out, and Father Contach was seen in the street 


Bringing Home the Bride. 389 


of the village, talking to a Torquil from Cairn- 
dow or Bundalloch, or listening to a tale of joy 
or sorrow from some girl whom he had, perhaps, 
christened, confirmed and married. 

When the full glory of the noontide was over 
sea and land, Donald’s carriage was seen at the 
top of the hill, a mile away. Then old Hector, 
leaning on the arm of Father Contach, went and 
stood at the entrance of the village to bless and 
welcome the Torquil and his bride. The people, 
with that mannerly behaviour which belonged 
to their temperament and education, ranged 
themselves along the roadside with smiling 
faces, casting handfuls of heather or ripe wheat, 
or sweet-smelling broom in the path of the 
bride’s carriage. Their gentle blessing lingered 
in the still, golden atmosphere, and came to 
Roberta and Donald with the perfume of 
the flowers and the heavenly echoes of the 
church-bells. 

When they reached the fir-wood, all sounds 
became a softened, tremulous murmur of glad- 


390 


Brmging Home the Bride, 


ness. Hector was in a carriage with Father 
Contach, but the people spread themselves 
before and behind and on each side in the green 
shades — the fishers, feeling as if they were in a 
new world, solemnized by the tender, mystical 
light, and gravely curious about the birds and 
insects, of which the sea had taught them noth- 
ing. 

Long tables had been laid for them in the big 
granaries, and there already Malcolm Roy’s 
magic violin was heard calling them together in 
those plaintive or delirious strains which not a 
heart among them could resist. As the day 
passed on, the sense of festival grew stronger. 
The courts were full of carriages and servants. 
Men known through all the country-side, and 
richly garmented women, strolled among the 
late flowers, or sauntered in the newly adorned 
rooms of the castle. The tones of music, of low 
laughter, of rippling conversation, and the frou- 
frou of silken robes, intoxicated the spirits like 
wine. And Sara was everywhere present, full of 


Bringing Home the Bride. 39 t 

joy and welcome, to both peers and peasants : 
her dress of blue velvet, her shimmering pearl 
necklace, her coronal of bright hair, her charm- 
ing manners, making her a conspicuous and 
delightful hostess. 

At length the magnificent dining-hall was 
thrown open, and all its splendid space was 
thronged with guests of honor or renown. Then 
Donald led in the lovely woman whom he had 
made Lady of Torquil. A murmur, indescriba- 
ble and irrepressible, ran through the pleased 
assemblage. Had such a pearl, indeed, come 
out of the fishing village of Ellerloch ? For 
Roberta’s girlish beauty had merely indexed the 
superb loveliness of her maturity. Within the 
past year she had improved marvelously; for, in 
love and hope and joyful confidence, beauty 
grows to its perfection. 

She was tall enough to be mate for Donald’s 
lofty stature ; and her fine countenance, with its 
wide, white brow and shining eyes and glorious 
coloring, reflected a soul full of tenderness, intel- 


392 


Bringing Home the Bride, 


lect and generosity, A robe of rich white satin 
clothed her. It had borders of silver-work, and 
the sapphires oi Tasmer gleamed on her white 
throat and wrists, and clasped the supple silver 
zone which marked her waist. Orange-blossoms 
crowned her dark hair and lay among the laces 
at her bosom. Every heart bowed down to her 
— every tongue praised her. 

When the wedding toast was drunk, the whole 
people came in. They stood around the hall in 
rows four deep, and when Father Contach 
blessed the bride-cup and lifted it toward heaven, 
five hundred cups were lifted with it, and the 
murmur of the Amen'' was a music that smote 
each heart beyond the power of speech, beyond 
all human interpretation, but such as eyes shin- 
ing through tears may give. 

For a few days, Tasmer Castle held a pleasant 
company, that gradually drifted away, each soul 
back to its own joys and sorrows. At the end 
of a week, Donald and Roberta were quite alone. 
Their new life, full of noble plans and hopes, 


Bringing Home the Bride, 


393 


was before them. They were eager to realize 
all that it asked of them. They were one soul, 
one heart and one hand in everything. They 
still kept the dew of their youth ; all its illusions 
and enthusiasms ; all its fervor of self-sacrifice ; 
all its passionate wealth and strength of personal 
affection. Their love had been well tested by 
suffering and disappointment and delay. It had 
been crowned with a miraculous gift of riches 
and happiness. Like the blessed Shunamite 
woman of old, they had the felicity she counted 
of greater value than royal favor — they could 
dwell among their own people.” 

They were sitting together one night, talking 
softly over all these things. The twilight deep- 
ened, but they called not for lights ; the glow of 
the fire was sufficient for their sweetly solemn 
dreams and hopes of their future. Father Con- 
tach entered. He blessed both and sat down be- 
side them. 

Hector is dead,” he said. He sent you 


394 


Bringing Home the Bride, 


back your father’s ring, Sir Donald, and with it 
his eternal love.” 

Donald took the ring with a murmured prayer 
and thoughtfully placed it on his finger. 

“ He went blessedly,” continued the priest — 
“quite happy in the thought that he would sleep 
with his fathers under the shadow of Torquil 
church. In the last hour, he dictated to me the 
verse for his stone. I have promised it shall be 
placed above him.” 

“ He is worthy to be remembered. What 
said he.^ 

“ ‘ Hector zs going' to the assembly izi heaven : 

It was in Easter- Torquil he was reared ; 

In blessed Torquil of many crosses he first read his psahns. 

He fought a good fight, and he goes to his God and his 
kindred s 

By grace of God and the Torquil, in Torquil he is buried.' " 

A silence full of feeling followed. Through 
the purple curtains the large crucifix shone white 
and peaceful in its solemn place, and after a lit- 
tle conversation, the father retired there. The 


Bringing Home the Bride. 


395 


young husband and his wife glanced at each 
other. They knew the holy man was praying, 
and they sat in communion with him. When 
he returned to their company, he had the Beads 
of Tasmer in his hand — the large ivory beads 
that had held their happy fortune. 

Children,’’ he said, “ these beads were not 
only iox your prosperity. Through God’s bless- 
ing in your hearts, they have brought and they 
shall bring comfort and salvation to hundreds 
and thousands who will bear your name. Think 
not that their material wealth was their great 
treasure, for none shall ever lift them, with a 
sincere faith in God and in Christ Jesu, and not 
find in such prayer aid and blessing from the 
Beads of Tasmer.” 


THE END. 


THE NORTHERN LIGHT 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 


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BY 

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Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

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6. --THE GREAT KENTON FEUD. By Capt. Frederick Whit- 

tier. Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Issued May 7th. 

7. -LUKE HAMMOND THE MISER. By Wm. Henry Peck. 

Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Issued May 21st. 

8. -THE CONSPIRATOR OF CORDOVA. By Sylvanus Cobb, 

Jr. Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Issued June 7th. 

9. -THE FORTUNES OF CONRAD. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Issued June 21st. 

10.--THE DIAMOND SEEKER OF BRAZIL. By Leon Lewis. 
Paper Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Issued July 7th. 

n.-'THE ROBBER COUNTESS. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper 
Cover. Price, 25 Cents. 

Issued July 2l8t. 

12.— BEL RUBIO. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. Paper 
Cover, Price, 25 Cents. 



^nt^XIONcO^ 


have roUNO IT 


match 


HAMOS 


»»L€JC - ION, 


LONDON lOO YE A RS, INTERNATIONAL AWARDS. 


A ERIUHT HEALTHFUL SKIN AND COAIPLEXION ENSURED BV USING 

t P E A R S’ S O A P. 

AS RECOMMENDED BY THE GREATEST ENGLISH AUTHORITY ON THE SKIN, 

Prof. SIR ERASMUS WILSON, /^.R.S, Pres, of the Royal Col. of Surgeons, 
.■'* I Englani?, and all other Leading Authorities on the Skin. 

Conntless Beanteons Ladles, Mndlng Mrs. Lillie Langtry, recomiend its Tirtnes' 

AND PREFER PEARS* SOAP TO ANY OTHER, 
ml The lollowing from the world-renowned Songstress is asample of thotisands ofTestimonials. 
Testimonial /rom Madame AOEIANA PATTI. * 

^ “T HAVE FOUND IT MATCHLESS FOR ^ * ^ 

Rtf ItHE HANDS AND COMPLEXION •• ^ ^ ^ ^ ey/^. ^ 

Soap is for Sale through- 

the drilized World, 




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